


Shadows of Chrome

by AlynnaStrong, EmpireMurderer



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: BFF Phasma and Hux, Badass Phasma, Because Phasma is More Complex Than the Movies/Book Make Her Out to Be, Gen, Maz is a Backpack, Origin Story, Phasma/Other, Revenge Adventure, Reventure?, Things Gonna Get Blow'd Up!, non-canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-08-06 11:33:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 71,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16387025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlynnaStrong/pseuds/AlynnaStrong, https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmpireMurderer/pseuds/EmpireMurderer
Summary: Captain Phasma didn't know until recently that life doesn't start at twelve years old in a stormtrooper academy. The investigation into her lost childhood reveals the extent of her indoctrination by the First Order. There are reasons to murder generals, to lower base shields, to hunt down and kill, to leave no witnesses behind...The reason is not survival.Everything is about revenge.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Phasma’s origin will differ from canon in some meaningful ways.

Ceremonials were unimportant.  BRI-3 had always passed from rank to rank with little fuss before.  Whenever an opportunity for advancement occurred, she would be presented with a new title and slightly more authority.  This didn’t happen for everyone, she knew, but she was special. Her designation showed as much. Everyone else in the stormtrooper corps had a designation of two letters and four numbers, not three letters and one number.  She inquired once about why hers was different and learned a valuable lesson. Don’t ask questions.

She stood at attention wearing polished and spotless white armor, tirelessly waiting at the end of a line of soldiers receiving lesser honors.  Her elevation to captain would provide the grand conclusion of the event. A far greater number of high-ranking officers than she'd estimated would attend were in the audience.  For them, it appeared, ceremonials were of significance. She took note of the attitude.

During the ceremony, she would leave her unusual designation behind and adopt a personal name.  This was a rare privilege, granted only to those the First Order expected to accomplish great deeds.  On her next deployment, she would be followed by a vid-droid so that others could observe her fighting skills and benefit from her example.  She supposed she felt pride in this. It was difficult to say. Emotion had not been much of a part of her life.

She still hadn’t decided about the name.  Creativity in the whimsical sense had also been discouraged throughout her training.  She could design a tactically brilliant solution for any encounter presented to her, but marking the different divisions with anything but numbers or colors confused her.  Why would the 1000s want to be called rancors and the 2000s wampas? Strange. 

The best name for her would probably be an adjective.  Captain Dauntless. Captain Strong. Captain Loyal. Maybe Loyala… or was that too fanciful?  Expressing her qualities in one word was tricky. Captain Modest? At least it would explain why she was having trouble presenting herself to such an exalted gathering.

General Brendol Hux approached, carrying the new badge of her authority, a captain’s cape.  The mesh-steel would drape dramatically over her white armor, leaving no doubt that she had been invested with the First Order’s highest honors for enlisted soldiers.  Considering her youth, just over twenty-three standard-years of age, even promotion to the elite command ranks was not out of the question.

General Hux saluted her.  Out of pure reflex and muscle memory, she pulled herself to her straightest stance and crisply saluted back.

“Lieutenant BRI-3, about face!” he commanded. 

She turned her back to the audience.  The display in her helmet showed Hux unfolding the cape and fastening it around her shoulders.

“What name have you chosen?” he asked quietly.

_ You must always trust Phasma.  She will protect you. _

BRI-3’s brow furrowed underneath her helmet.  She could not pin down the wandering thought. It had passed through her mind leaving no references or memories behind.  There was a certain feeling of peace, however, and comfort. General Hux waited.

“Phasma.  Captain Phasma,” BRI-3 said, not giving herself time to reconsider.  The vocoder in her helmet smoothed out any uncertainty in her voice.

“Very good,” he muttered.  “About face!” She turned again to face the audience.

“My esteemed colleagues, may I present the First Order’s newest captain: Phasma.”

Phasma dipped her head to acknowledge the polite applause.  Though she had been part of the First Order since her youth, now she would be in a position to shape it.  So this was pride.

 

The ceremony broke down into a more informal gathering where the officers mingled, imbibed alcohol, and dined on bites of rich, fatty food.  The newly minted Captain Phasma was largely spared from awkward small talk by the repetitious congratulations of the junior officers. They all wanted her to know how very impressed they were with her accomplishments, and how they hoped they would share an assignment rotation at some point.  In Phasma’s opinion, most of them would regret such a posting, considering that they were well out of peak condition. She promised herself then and there that she would never command her troops to do a task she could not execute herself.

General Hux introduced his son Armitage, a red-haired young man approximately Phasma’s age.  He would soon take over as second in command aboard the First Order's newest Star Destroyer, and his father clearly expected great achievements in a short amount of time.  Phasma was not at all sure he was up to such a demanding post. He'd obviously risen through the ranks aided by his father's influence and with the firm knowledge that any of his failures would be blamed on someone else.  He was not physically imposing or stunningly intelligent. There was a certain shrewdness in the young man's eyes, however. If perhaps his upbringing had gifted him with political savvy, he may someday be less troublesome to work with than his father.  It was worth keeping in mind.

Phasma’s eyes swept over the room, habitually on the lookout for any threats.  The officers continued to talk amongst themselves, not noticing her quiescence.  An honor guard of stormtroopers were stationed unobtrusively around the room. Armed with nothing but subdual weapons, they would prevent any political disagreements from straying into dangerous territory.  A Sith Lord lurked in the background. Phasma had never seen one in the flesh before. Though not part of the formal command structure, they sometimes appeared at gatherings of importance. She wondered if he was there for her.

Phasma excused herself and started to walk towards the magnetic figure, intending to size him up in person.  She imagined she could feel the power he radiated growing stronger as she drew closer. As her perspective shifted, however, she saw someone watching her intently from the periphery of the crowd.  He wore a dress uniform but was positioned so she couldn’t see his rank. He was a fairly unassuming-looking humanoid male, middle aged, with pale skin and dark brown hair. Something about his expression – mildly interested and calm – filled her with dread.

She blinked, and she was in a room with steel examining tables equipped with rough restraining straps.  The scene shifted. Children dressed in thin uniforms that she knew provided no protection from the cold stood at attention in a simulated rainstorm despite some having visible injuries.  A thickly-built boy fell, his femur snapping as his bones were not strong enough to withstand the pull of his tight muscles. Another boy who was somehow important clutched his arm to his chest and looked terrified.   

Phasma opened her eyes wide, trying to will the vision away.  Had the Sith sent it to her with his mysterious mind clouding abilities?  Why? She looked again to the spot where he’d been standing, but he had vanished.  As she cast her gaze around searching for him, she began to feel disoriented. Colors suddenly stood out in a way they hadn’t before.  There seemed to be too many blues, greens, and reds. Particularly reds. 

She breathed deeply and concentrated on her armor to calm herself.  Solid white with a solid black bodyglove underneath. Dependable and trustworthy, no nasty surprises.  If the First Order ever wanted her to wear a special uniform beyond the cape to make her stand out from the regular stormtroopers, she would find a way to ensure that garish colors weren’t a part of it.  Not like Captain Cardinal and his bright red armor. Just the thought of wearing such an abomination made her stomach clench. 

 

Guests were finally starting to drift away from the gathering.  Had it not been partially in her honor, Phasma would have found the exit earlier herself.  She’d not seen the Sith Lord since she lost him in the crowd, nor the other officer who had been observing her with such interest.  She began to prepare for the evening to conclude, offering farewells to her superiors and trying to cement their names and appearances in her mind.

Most everyone had been well plied by drink at that point and were speaking less than cautiously.  Not wanting to remove her helmet, Phasma had abstained from all foods and beverages. They were not properly calibrated to her body’s needs in any event.  She wasn't above substituting some local fish for her allotment of protein paste, but the fare here was nutritionally worthless.

She heard snatches of other conversations as she made her way around the room.

“When I was a boy on Jakku…”

“If the First Order hadn’t pulled me out of the gutter on Pylos…”

“Such a spoiled brat, wasting my life studying art.  Praise the First Order for giving me a sense of purpose.”

Phasma felt confused all over again.  It was odd hearing other officers speaking about life before the First Order.  They seemed to have such vivid memories of their childhoods, their homes, their parents or siblings.  Something called pets. She had no such recollections. Life started when she arrived at the barracks and was given her bunk assignment.  Was that not true for everyone?

_ Don’t speak unless called upon.  Don’t ask questions. Your purpose is to obey without hesitation. _

The training regime differed for the officers, she could see that now.  Some hadn’t enlisted until after adolescence. Some, like Armitage Hux, even maintained a relationship with their parents.  

An ember of curiosity flamed to life in the back of her mind.  Left untended, these usually petered out, but this one began to blaze.  Stormtrooper training commenced at age twelve for humans. Much of the reminiscing she overheard called back to far earlier ages than twelve.  For her, there was nothing but a solid blank wall until she entered the barracks. It made no sense. She was superior to the other cadets in every way, including earning the top scores on tests of contemporaneous memory.  So, where was her past?

She ran her gloved fingers across the edge of her new mesh-steel cape.  A full degree advancement in rank meant an elevated level of security clearance as well.  Perhaps she would investigate this anomaly with the precision, care, and attention to detail that had allowed her to rise so far so fast. 


	2. Chapter 2

It was evident throughout her history that Phasma was hyper-intelligent. She could figure out the trajectory of a sniper blast from four kilometers out. She was at the the top of the rankings in her strategies class. She was known to outsmart every enemy and find novel ways to catch them off guard. But despite these circumstances, Phasma was not used to thinking of or for herself. Since before she could remember, she was trained only to obey orders.

The strange occurrence during her ceremony had given Phasma quite a scare, though the feeling was foreign to her and she couldn’t name it for what it was. Once the disorientation had subsided, she brushed the fear to the side, knowing any mention of it might warrant a trip to the infirmary or re-conditioning. For a while she braced herself for another flash of images, but they never came.

Though the lingering visions were already beginning to fade, she was compelled to investigate the matter further. Something was wrong, and she didn’t like it.

It took some time for her to step far enough out of her habitual conformity to use her new security clearance on anything but inspection of the ship or the troops. Even looking into her own history felt like an intrusion of First Order confidentiality. Six months after her promotion, safely outside the time frame she could potentially be monitored due to her new clearance, her fingers typed in her name in the datapad.

_Captain Phasma_

The information started with her initiation into the military institution. Every point she had earned at the academy was credited. Her file was incredibly dense with accolades and top marks. ‘First in her class’ was labeled in every one of her rankings.

At first glance it seemed nothing was amiss until she noticed a box labeled ‘pseudonyms’. It was blank.

She felt that her previous name should have appeared there. She cleared the screen and searched a new name.

_BRI-3_

_No information available_

She stared at the words in a slight daze. It was as if she hadn’t existed before the military academy. She sat and pondered this turn of events, but there was nothing to understand, no clues to draw from except the blank screen and the fleeting glimpses in her mind that she was unable to harness.

She had reached the end of her clearance. With no other avenues to pursue, Phasma was at a road block, but the seed of doubt had been planted and a light had been cast on the First Order that revealed to her the impurities well hidden in the dark.

 

By this point, Phasma was used to the vid-droid following her around on the battlefield. Most drops had been simple excursions or surveys of the terrain with a few firefights in between. There was nothing spectacular about her or her troops when they engaged in a battle, and as she stood in the assault shuttle with her squadron down to the surface of a red planet, she expected more of the same.

From the moment the transport ship touched down, they were under heavy attack.

Phasma was the first to disembark, her captain’s cape flying in the wind of the ship’s thrust reactors as she descended the ramp and opened fire. Her bravery spurred her squadron into action, and the vid-droid captured the aggressive battle engaged on the hostile terrain.

Natives of the planet surrounded the ship and fired with their archaic plasma blasters, half the power of the ones the stormtroopers carried. Still, the First Order was outnumbered four-to-one.  Rather than retreat, Phasma quickly analyzed the situation, determined it survivable, and led her troops towards victory. By the time the natives had fled, Phasma had killed fifty-three from their number and proven why she was known to be a soldier of exemplary techniques.

The vid-droid sent the footage to the First Order, and it was quickly distributed through every propaganda channel available. Despite the valor she had shown, under the mask she was conflicted in her thoughts. An ambush party that large surely would have shown up on the sensors of the star destroyer before deployment. The First Order had sent them down anyway and never warned her.

She doubted they had tried to get her killed. It appeared her life was either expendable, or their expectations of her were so high as to thrust her into a trap without so much as a forewarning. She was an emotionless person, but a spit of acid burned inside her that they were so careless with her life.

Her orders were to find and apprehend one of the planet’s leaders. She carried them out without any more hesitation.

 

“Well done, Captain,” Lieutenant Sol Rivas commended her as soon as the transport shuttle had docked in the bay. He extended his hand to Phasma as she came down the plank, muddied with blood and guts on her once pristine white armor. “I can see why your recent promotion has garnered such talk among the higher ranking officials. You are extraordinary on the battlefield.”

This was the man that had analyzed the information on the planet and deemed it necessary to place them inside a trap. Captain Phasma had only one recourse.

“Thank you, sir.” She was grateful to have a helmet to mask the disgust on her face. It was an odd feeling for sure; one she had no experience with and certainly not the ability to hide.

At that moment, an angry shout echoed through the bay. Phasma and Lt. Rivas turned to the source.

“Absolute lunacy!” Lt. General Armitage Hux sped walked down the lines of stormtroopers filed in the bay, approaching Rivas with a face as red as his hair.

“Is there something the matter?” Rivas asked Hux with visible contempt. He showed no respect for the young Lt. General who was possibly a decade less than Rivas’s age, and he undoubtedly viewed the younger Hux as a spoiled brat advanced only by nepotism.

“You intentionally sent my troops down into an ambush!” Hux spat. “If it hadn’t been for the Captain, they would all be dead!”

“Have more faith in the Captain,” Rivas replied dismissively. “If it wasn’t for her, we would have had no other way to apprehend the target.”

“This is no way to treat a squadron of stormtroopers,” Hux crassed.

“They’re _stormtroopers_ ,” Rivas retorted. Phasma expected an elaboration of his answer but was disappointed to find that was it. There was no other explanation needed according to him.

“You’ll be hearing from my father about your impudent use of our troops,” Hux replied, waving his hand in the air contemptuously as he walked away.

Rivas scoffed and looked back at Phasma with an insolent grin. “Looks like Junior is trying too hard to look competent in front of his father,” he snickered. “Don’t worry about him. He’ll probably be demoted once it’s clear he’s overreaching his capabilities.”

Phasma had an urge to say something on behalf of Hux, who was the only officer in the six months aboard the _Finalizer_ to have ever offered any concern for the well being of a stormtrooper. The sentiment was so foreign and and unnatural as to ingrain itself into her thoughts.

“Of course, sir,” was all she could reply.

 

The combined revelations that her history was suspiciously absent from the over-meticulous records of the First Order and that her existence was as a knife until she dulled, drew Phasma into a mental conundrum.

It had always been implied that she was nothing more than a cog in the First Order, and that there were others like her to take her place if she fell. She had never given it much thought before, and for the first time she wondered if she should be more than that. She could barely embrace the idea, so deep was her conditioning, that it remained a lithe thought placed on the outside of her mind. She would continue to do her duties. There was nothing more for her than that.

 

“Ah, Captain Phasma, come in.”

“You wished to see me, sir?”

Phasma stood to the side of Lt. General Hux as he observed the cadets below, training with their riot batons.

“Yes, I must commend you on your extraordinary capabilities last week. Very few could be caught in an ambush and not only come out of it alive but with the mission completed.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“It’s been recommended that you have your armor replaced with something more visual for the cameras. Your cloak is a distinguishing part of your uniform, but the idea has been broached that white is too common looking for such a skilled officer.”

“Am I to be given red armor?” she asked, hoping the vocoder disguised the revulsion in her voice.

“No, of course not,” Hux replied. “That’s what Captain Cardinal wears.” He waited for her response but sensing she spoke little as it is, went on. “It’s thought that the color theme - red; Cardinal - is a clever one and should be continued in the same vein. Since there are no colors that come to mind when your name is mentioned aloud, it’s been determined your armor will be light blue, like a plasma bolt. See? Phasma, plasma…”

“Interesting choice, sir,” she remarked. Something bubbled along the surface of her mind. Resentment? That might be it. She had so little experience with emotions that it was hard to pinpoint exactly what she was feeling.

“You don’t seem content with the choice,” Hux said flatly.

“What other choice is there?”

“I hope you realize you have the authority to make any requests you see fit, Captain,” he prodded. “Perhaps now is the time to state something on your own behalf. It will ease your way into making bolder demands in the future.”

Phasma searched within herself but was disheartened to realize not only was she unable to step out of her silent role, but she had no idea what she would want. She desired to know about her past, but she doubted he would view that as a reasonable request.

“I will do as the First Order tells me.”

“I see,” he replied with a hint of disappointment. Phasma was unsure what she had done wrong. “As a testament to your exceptional abilities, you will be receiving your new armor next week during a short ceremony in front of the other troops. Dismissed.”

 

Most of the time Phasma did not think of anything other than the present. A typical day consisted of waking up early, taking ten minutes to eat her protein paste and vitamin capsules, training the troopers, detailing the squads, eating more protein paste and vitamins, practicing her silverstaff techniques or blaster marksmanship, reviewing the cadets, then typing up her reports and going to bed in her private quarters.

Since Hux informed her of her new armor, she felt distracted by the weight of her dread. The color of her armor should not have had such effect on her mood, but it was hard to deny she did not look forward to the event.

The ceremony approached, and Phasma found herself on a raised platform high above where the thousands of other stormtroopers could witness her being paraded by the officers who gambled with their lives.

Lt. General Hux called her to attention.

“For your heroics and leadership both on and off the battlefield, the First Order commends you, Captain Phasma, and presents you with this one of a kind armor in declaration that no other soldier has shown the bravery and extraordinary performance that you have.”

Hux nodded his head at one of the ensigns near the shrouded armor. The sheet was removed and Phasma stilled in shock at how not blue the revealed armor turned out to be. There were many surprises in life that consisted of ambushes, raids, death, sickness, injury and trauma. This was a surprise like none other she’d ever had.

“Let this armor represent the remarkable achievements of the person solely designated for its use,” Hux continued as he waved his hand over at the magnificent chrome bouncing light in all directions and giving off a radiance that awed everyone in the bay. “You are a perfect reflection of the First Order. Loyal, obedient, strong, impeccable. You are _not_ expendable. You do the First Order honor, Captain Phasma.”

She didn’t know what to say to him about that. It seemed like a compliment but there seemed to be more of a hinting nature to his words. She nodded her head once slowly, hoping her stance didn’t betray how confused she felt.

“Thank you, sir.”

Most colors were dulled through the visor of her helmet but she could sense the sharp green of his eyes when he looked at her. Hux began to clap, which set off a wave of applause by the officers and a formal salute by the troopers standing at attention.

Pride was becoming consistently attainable since she’d become Captain. It made its presence felt here.

 

All her life, Phasma was given a standard set of armor sized for those who stood taller than 5’11”. It could only fit so well given her measurements. The chrome armor was specifically made for her, and it fit like a glove. There were no mirrors in her quarters, barracks or other areas she frequented, but when the doors closed in the turbo lifts, she could glimpse herself in the polished steel and something inside her chest seemed to lift like a bubble.

“I hope that you don’t mind the chrome.” Hux came to her a few days after the ceremony. “Light blue is not a respectable color for a Captain.”

“I understand, sir,” she replied. And after a short hesitation, “The chrome is better than light blue.”

Hux’s brows shot up in surprise. “Ah, an opinion. Keep at it. You’ll get used to voicing them eventually.”

He had a rare smile that emboldened her to attempt another test outside her comfort zone.

“Would it be possible for me to be in attendance during the analysis of the next drop?” Her voice was thin, waiting for rejection.

“I think that would be an excellent idea,” Hux agreed. “I will summon you myself. And this time Rivas’s lack of tactical strategy won’t plant you in a most dire position again.”

For the first time in her life, Phasma had an ally.

 

The chrome armor changed her. There was nothing but respect from those graced by her glorious appearance, and she learned to claim her pride. After a while, Hux could see that she was slightly more open about her thoughts, and he asked her opinion often. Six months later, they walked together towards the receiving bay.

“I’m not sure why Supreme Leader Snoke is sending a dignitary to this specific ship but he must have something in mind other than a simple inspection,” he told her as they entered the oversized hangar and waited for those on the imperial shuttle to disembark. “Your input is valued, so make sure you pay attention to everything they do.”

“Of course, sir.”

The plank hissed out and only one person descended. Shrouded in black robes, Phasma was sure it was the same Sith Lord she had seen a year earlier at her Captain’s ceremony.

“Lord Kylo Ren,” Hux greeted coolly. “Welcome aboard the _Finalizer_.”

Phasma felt a strange pull deep in the recesses of her brain as the Sith Lord neared. She couldn’t stop it from strengthening. Soon, she was gone.

_A boy with blond hair. He smiles at her. The sun is setting beyond the sea. He points to the blinding reflection of light._

_“She protects us. But you can never see her face.”_

_He smiles at her and she feels a warmth that shrouds her from head to toes. Happiness. It fades and suddenly he is falling away from her, screaming out a name she can’t hear…_

“...is my esteemed commander of the stormtroopers, Captain Phasma.”

Phasma jolted back, barely able to deduce that maybe a few seconds have elapsed. For a moment the Sith Lord seemed to be contemplating her, and she wondered if he had seen her vision, but then he bowed his head at her in regard and she did the same.

It was evident now that the Sith Lord was the cause of these visions. Whether intentionally or not, he was affecting her mind. She made the decision to prioritize her goal - her need - to understand the matter fully.


	3. Chapter 3

As a stormtrooper and not a regular officer, Phasma did not have the clearance to research just anything. There was little to find about the Sith, but they were closely linked to the Jedi and both retained powers that could alter the minds of others. Why this particular Sith did this to her was mystifying.

There were many surface questions that she wanted solved. Was he personally targeting her? Was he doing this to anyone else? Was he implanting the visions or were they memories drudged from the black sea of her mind? 

The Sith Lord seemed to care only about the order of the ship and its troopers. He took no effort in speaking with her either publicly or privately. She deduced he had not intended to stir visions, and close observation of others around him confirmed no one else was experiencing the same thing. She had heard that he was one of the more powerful Sith, harnessing the might of the Force with relative ease. It was possible his presence was unintentionally stimulating something inside her head, though what it was and why it was happening to her was perplexing.

It was easy enough to steer clear of the Sith Lord for the time being. She could see him from the overlook above the training rooms, far enough away to comfortably lie outside the influence of his power. He and Hux did not seem to share a good rapport. It placed a bias against him.

 

When the day came for the Sith Lord to leave, rather than stand at attention near Hux as she usually did, Phasma remained near the closest squadron. Hux cocked a brow at her but didn’t question it. As Kylo Ren passed by, she expected another vision and was not surprised when it came. Possibly due to the distance between them, it was rather feeble but managed to convey the same confusion as before.

 

_ The boy. Blood matted in his blonde hair and streaming down his neck.  A handprint of red on the wall. His eyes, blue, crazed with pain, dying. _

 

The images were so fleeting that she almost missed them. She wished she had.

The Sith Lord boarded his shuttle, and it launched out of the bay.

“Your thoughts, Captain?” Hux had come to stand beside her. Even without the aid of her expression, he had noticed something was amiss.

“I don’t trust him, sir,” she replied quietly.

“Nor do I,” Hux nodded.

  
  


While Phasma was pleased enough to have a good working relationship with the younger Hux, she had never liked his father and was unsettled to hear that he would be visiting the ship soon with his personal guard, Captain Cardinal. 

She was familiar with General Brendol Hux from her days in the military academy when he would closely monitor the cadets. From the moment she met him, he seemed to gaze upon her with a predatory smirk, in the sense that he was proud of his cubs’ first kill. At first she thought it was simply the way he looked at everyone, but it later became obvious that he favored her and treated her differently from the rest. It pushed her to become stronger, mainly because the other children noticed and knew the best way to get Brendol Hux’s attention was by besting his favorite cadet. But even as a child, she could never be defeated.

Captain Cardinal she had only met once, last year at her promotional ceremony. His red armor was truly an eye sore, and she noticed he ignored her for the most part except to occasionally glance at her with a frown when his helmet was removed. There was something antagonistic about him, and she was thankful to have never revealed her face to him, feeling she had more leverage when her opponents didn’t have the luxury of knowing many details.

The day arrived when she stood by Hux’s side as his father walked down the plank of his newly arrived shuttle. Captain Cardinal followed.

“Armitage,” Brendol muttered as he shook his son’s hand. He turned to Phasma, a disquieting smile on his ruddy face. “Captain Phasma. The armor serves you well.”

“Thank you, sir.” She rarely felt uncomfortable in her own skin. Something about Brendol Hux caused prickles of agitation to run the length of her spine. He passed by with the red stormtrooper trailing him. Brendol Hux never went anywhere without his personal guard.

Captain Cardinal stepped in front of Captain Phasma and paused. There seemed to be a moment’s worth of silence between them until he gradually nodded his red helm, and she did the same in her chrome. For both Huxs and the hundreds of stormtroopers looking on, it was like watching two formidable warriors exchanging respect. For Phasma, it was habitual for her to judge him, noting he seemed thicker in muscle tone, but she was clearly taller. She could feel his eyes beneath the black of his visor cascading over her, examining her as well.

Brendol Hux led Captain Cardinal and his shuttle crew out of the bay.

“If you don’t mind my asking,” Armitage Hux asked as he and Phasma walked side-by-side back to the bridge, “are you glad to see Captain Cardinal again or were you rivals in your youth?”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand your meaning,” she replied, glancing at him with cocked brow.

“I assume you were in the same unit at the military academy. Why else would you both have the same unique codename?”

Phasma stopped short, causing Hux to look in bewilderment behind him once he saw she was not following. “What was his codename?” she asked.

He gave her a suspicious look before answering. “BRI-1.”

Once again, Phasma was thankful for her concealed expressions, though there wasn’t much other than the furrow of her brow and a glance to the floor in heavy thought.

“He was not in the military academy at the time I was,” she told him finally after mulling it over quickly.

As she brushed past him, Hux had nothing to say about it except to gaze back on her in contemplation.

  
  


When Phasma needed a place to think, she went to the training room. Activating a simulation, she took up her silverstaff and practiced her techniques against the droids made to look like Tusken Raiders.

It seemed awfully coincidental that the only person she knew of to have a BRI codename was another Captain heralded as one of the greatest soldiers the First Order had to offer. Cardinal must know or suspect something about her, otherwise the passive hostility exuding from him was out of place.

The answers to her visions was on the ship, and she wondered how she could corner Cardinal alone and ask him, but there were a lot of issues to contend with. Cardinal was openly contemptuous. He would not be generous with his answers. Also, if she were to confront him with her questions, he would most certainly go to Brendol, and it might be deemed worthy to send her through re-conditioning. Not only that, but there was hardly a way to get him alone in the first place. What reason would she have to ask him for a private talk?

She struck the Tusken Raider so hard he flew back into the training wall with a dull thunk. The simulation cut out unexpectedly, giving her a second’s worth of confusion until she heard the stale clapping of gloved hands behind her.

“Well done, Captain Phasma.” Cardinal stepped through the doorway, pulling his helmet off his head as he turned and locked the door behind him. Phasma straightened but kept her staff in her hands. “Very impressive indeed.”

Phasma could hardly believe her luck at finding the opportunity presenting itself, though she had the thought that it could possibly be her misfortune as well. As a woman of few words, she let him speak to his agenda, hoping somehow it was the same as hers.

“I’ve been watching you on the First Order feeds,” he continued, walking over to a row of riot batons and electroswords. He fingered the hilts of each one while he spoke. “I can’t help but notice you favor your silverstaff.”

“Lt. General Hux tells me it’s the reason he chose chrome for my uniform,” she answered, cautiously watching every move he made.

“Ah, yes. Junior,” Cardinal snickered and Phasma felt her grip tighten along her staff. “A good weapon is only as good as its wielder.” He distanced himself away from the group of weapons without so much as a hint of interest in them anymore. Instead his curiosity focused entirely on her as he came up close, inspecting her black visor with narrowed eyes. His hands behind his back, he circled her as she stood motionless while he scrutinized. 

“What do you look like?” he asked to her surprise.

“What does that matter?” she replied defensively.

“Are you scarred? Ugly? I imagine a beast of a woman beneath the gleam of that hideous armor.”

“I am neither,” she responded, feeling an odd sense of anger. She was not used to being angry, and the small culmination of it already began to take control. “And it would not matter in any event.”

“I disagree. Appearances mean more than you understand. And as it is, you look like a walking mirror.”

“Better than a dull red named after a weak bird.”

He flinched back by her retort, perhaps not expecting her to be so confrontational. “I don’t see why Brendol Hux is fascinated by you. You are nothing but an ungrateful child.”

“Is that why you’re jealous of me?”

“Jealous? I’m nothing of the sort.”

“Of course you are,” she smiled, finally glad to start turning the tables on him. “I can see it in your glare. I wondered why you were so antagonizing, but now I know it’s because your precious Brendol Hux has found pride in someone other than you; a personal guard. It must eat you up that I’m gallivanting around the galaxy, portrayed on the First Order feeds as an excellent soldier and hero, and you’re nothing but a shield for a man who has no wish to be near the front lines.”

“You shut your hideous face!” Cardinal burst out, causing Phasma a short laugh.

“No wonder you hate Armitage Hux! He’s an actual son to Brendol.”

“Armitage is an obtuse fool. Without his father he would be a kitchen servant.”

“He’s stopped praising you, hasn’t he?” Phasma continued. “Ever since my commendation to Captain, I’ll bet. Suddenly I’m the one he talks about.”

“You’re so very wrong.”

“Am I?” Phasma grit her teeth and stood tall, letting her shadow fall over him. “Am I, BRI-1?”

Cardinal’s eyes widened in shock. He recovered quickly and drew out the electrosword sitting in his red scabbard belted across his waist. Phasma had only to pull her staff above her head to catch the strike he flailed at her.

“How do you know my name?” he asked through gritted teeth as he stared her down through her black visor.

“Why wouldn’t I?” She thrust her staff out, causing him to rear back, and then struck at him with a spin of the quicksilver baton. He easily deflected it, punctuating with a quick leg sweep she effortlessly jumped over. Right away she recognized he was a far superior fighter to any she had ever contested.

“Tell me who you are,” she said as she backed off and circled him with staff ready. “What do you remember?”

“The hell are you talking about?” He had his sword pointed at her, ready to attack at the first sign of an opening. It sparked with electric energy down the blade.

“Before the military academy. What do you remember?”

“That’s nonsense,” he scoffed. “I was only a child.” He tested her defense and backed quickly away when she showed signs of immense strength.

“How old? What academy?”

“Shut up and fight!” He raised the sword back and struck at her, which she quickly parried. Twirling her staff, she thrust one edge at his throat and he ducked, narrowly avoiding it, then rolled when she swung downward, hitting the mat where his leg had been half a second earlier.

He jumped up and threw his sword at her. It sparked in the air, and she grabbed the edge of her cape, pulling it over herself to feel the sword pierce into the armorweave just below her elbow. She shook off the sword and looked over at Cardinal who wielded a riot baton and was charging her.

She caught the strike mid air and shoved him away. He avoided her counter-strike, punching at her helmet in the process, which she dodged.

Had either Hux been there, he would have been witness to a truly accomplished skirmish by the First Order’s best hand-to-hand fighters. Training classes would be dedicated entirely on the footage between the Captains as they utilized every ounce of their skill and speed to outmaneuver the other in spectacular fashion.

Cardinal wailed the riot baton on her as she effectively countered with her silverstaff, all the while both throwing punches and kicks in an effort to evade the other. Their Captains capes twirled impressively while they moved with effervescent fluidity.

Phasma, at long last, realized there were no rules here. Desperate to find her answers, she threw her staff at him like a javelin and he side-stepped to avoid it like she knew he would. Quick as lightning, she pulled her pistol out of her holster and shot a plasma bolt at him, striking him in the left quad. He jumped on his left leg, taking the weight off his injured muscle and fell to the ground when she shot at him again.

With blaster pointed at his head, she strode up to him, standing over his prone body.

“What do you remember?”

“I don’t understand,” he cried out in confusion.

“Before the academy. When did you go? How old were you?”

“The fuck does it matter? I was twelve. Too young to remember details. And the Carida Academy isn’t worth remembering anyway.”

That explained a few things. Phasma had gone to the Arkanis Academy. She wondered if they had intentionally been separated.

“How old are you?”

“25,” he stated. “How old are you?” The last he said sarcastically. She aimed her blaster pistol and shot him in the shoulder. It bounced off his red shoulder plate, causing him terrible bruising and a possible burn underneath but mostly harmless compared to a shot in the head. He roared in fright, pinching his eyes shut then slowly opening them when he realized he was still alive.

“How many BRIs are there?”

“I don’t know. We’re the only ones I know of.”

“Does Brendol know?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“As a matter of fact I-…”

Unable to complete her statement, she managed to depress the trigger of her pistol, only for the shot to hit the mat beside his head as he pulled a knife from inside a secret compartment in his armor and pierced it into her wrist guard. It was sharp and scythe like, the hilt of the blade the same Cardinal red.

She felt the stab through her armor and choked back a shriek, flinching back and giving him room to find his footing again. He had knocked the blaster out of her hand and now grabbed her armor and pulled her in for a punch. She ducked his fist and grabbed him around the arm, pulling her foot behind his leg and dropping him back to the ground. He lost his stance but managed to pull her down with him and they wrestled on the mats, trying desperately to get the upper hand. They grappled with the knife between them, at one point each managing to get it pointed into the other’s neck but unable to complete the blow.

Phasma arched her neck back and pounded her helmet into Cardinal’s nose, causing a spray of blood to rush out his nostrils. With his eyes unfocused at the concussion he received, she grabbed the hilt of the knife and drove it into the side of his chest plate just under his armpit. He yelped in shock, immediately the fight drained out of him.

With the knife embedded in his chest, Cardinal lay on his back on the training mat and choked out bloody coughs. Phasma came up beside him carrying his red helmet and placed it where he could see it.

“I expected more from you,” she said, knowing it was more hurtful than the knife puncture in his lung. He gasped for air and looked at her with wide eyes, knowing this was how he would die. She gripped the handle of the knife and yanked it out. His scream echoed through the chamber but could not be heard from outside.

“Another death in the training room,” she tsked. “You had an awful lot to say when you came in. Why so quiet?”

“Fuck you,” he managed to choke out in a harsh whisper.

“Tell me everything you know,” she replied gravely. He turned his head away, refusing to look her in the eyes. She decided on another tactic. “Tell me everything you know or I will kill Brendol Hux with this.” She raised his knife to his eyes, the one Brendol had probably given to him as a gift. The one everyone knew was only used by Captain Cardinal.

“I’ll…kill…you,” he barely managed to say.

“Doubtful,” she surveyed him pitifully. “From what I can tell, it seems you were so upset with Brendol Hux for no longer treating you like his esteemed son that you killed him out of anger and jealousy. You ran down to the training room to be alone and committed suicide after seeing what you had done.”

“Not…sui-…”

“No, I know what you’re going to say. It doesn’t look like suicide and that’s something we can both agree on. Let’s just say then that you planned to kill me because I was the reason for your jealousy but I bested you. It’s not far off from the truth so its better this way. I’ll put that in my report.” She stood up and fixed her cape so that it hung immaculately in place.

“I’ll be right back,” she told him. “Try not to die till then, BRI-1.” As she exited the room she locked the door and made sure no one but her could override the security. With his knife hidden inside her ammo box, she entered the turbolift. Next destination: Brendol Hux’s quarters.


	4. Chapter 4

The trek to General Brendol Hux’s room was relatively quiet. There were few people lingering in the officer’s hall, and as Phasma neared his room she realized she wasn’t sure of the desired outcome of this meeting. It would be best not to be seen near the area. A massive chrome-armored person was certainly easy to remember.

She stepped into a utility closet and blocked the door. Discarding her armor, she was left in her black body glove, which suited her fine since she had now opted to go the stealth route. Climbing into the vent above, she made her way towards Brendol’s guest quarters.

Surprisingly, she had a fair amount of experience with this mode of clandestine travel. She was forced into many ventilation shafts and tight areas during her training as a child soldier. Despite being a rather tall specimen, she had been thin and wiry and could squeeze into many areas and out the other side to open the door for her squad.

Looking through the air vents as she crawled along, she finally spotted Brendol’s room and climbed out onto the floor.

The room was empty. That hardly mattered. She wanted some time to go through his things anyway. She started on his datapad, hoping he kept his security clearance logged in, but no such luck. She rifled through some of his possessions, though there was hardly anything out of the ordinary.

She was about to try hacking her way into his datapad when she heard heated voices at the door and silently made her way into the closet. Just as she was concealed, the door slid back and both Hux’s walked through.

“...too much away. You should learn to be more discreet, boy,” Brendol argued as he strode in. He sounded tense and angry.

“What does it matter what people hear?” Armitage Hux defended tersely. “You’re so wrapped in secrets that you don’t even know which ones are appropriate to divulge, so you keep them all to yourself.”

“You want to know my secrets? Is that it, boy?”

“I don’t give one Wampa turd about your damned secrets. I want to know why you’re doing this. You won’t give me a sensible answer.”

“I told you, she’s not your personal soldier. I only put her under your command because I thought you needed all the help you could get, but now that I see you’re letting her attend the strategy meetings and voice her opinion on standard protocols… well, how else am I supposed to react? You’re treating her like an officer.”

“She is an officer,” Armitage hissed through gritted teeth. “She has every right to say her piece. In fact, she has the most right considering she’s the one down there fighting the battles.”

“From what I’ve heard from the other officers, you give her much more credit than she is entitled to. You let her plan the entire mission down on Farragul IV! The duty of a stormtrooper is to execute orders, not make them.”

“She has shown incredible aptitude for-…”

“You have no idea what you’re saying, boy,” Brendol replied. “She is an extremely expensive war machine and nothing more. Your meddling has caused a lot of damage to her conditioning. That’s why I’m doing this,” he pointed a fat finger angrily into his son’s chest. “That’s why she will be sent to the re-education unit,” he tapped harder along Armitage’s sternum. “That’s why I’m transferring her.” A last pointed thrust of his finger into Armitage’s chest punctuated his final reason.

“This is unfair and disrespectful to a soldier of Phasma’s caliber,” Armitage stated quietly.

“Well, your opinion will have to go unheeded. I was simply giving you a courtesy by telling you of her re-conditioning, but considering you’re the imbecile that damaged her in the first place, perhaps I should have filed the transfer before discussing it with you.”

“I am asking you not to do this.”

“And I’m telling you, it’s as good as done.”

There was a moment’s hesitation before Armitage spoke through a snarl. “All my life I have wished you were dead.”

“Get the fuck out of here!” Brendol shouted, aiming his index finger at the door. “You’re a disgrace to my name, and I should have never pulled you from the wretchedness of your despicable mother!” Armitage stalked towards the door with long strides. Still, Brendol shouted after him.

“You nearly cost me my reputation, you know! You’re a fucking idiot and don’t deserve my help. You would be nothing if it weren’t for me!”

The door shut behind Armitage, and Phasma heard Brendol sigh heavily.

“That fucking boy…” he muttered under his breath.

She peeked out of the closet to see Brendol’s back turned to her. He was not at his computer and therefore was not drawing up the transfer report on her yet. 

In a split second, she made her decision.  She didn’t want to be reconditioned, of course, but Armitage figured into it as well.  He’d wished his father dead, and she vastly preferred him to his father.  He was her… friend? At any rate, he’d made his desires known, and wasn’t it her duty to give her General what he wanted? 

With her future already in jeopardy, she didn’t have much to lose. Brendol would most definitely die today. Perhaps he could prove of some final use first, however.

She inched out quietly while his back was turned, still unaware of her presence. With shaky hands, he poured liquor in a shot glass and pounded it back, groaning when the alcohol hit his throat.

“Goddamn him…” Brendol muttered to himself again.

She was right behind him. If she wanted to snap his neck, it would take only an instant. Glancing at the back of his head then to his datapad, she wondered to what extreme she would have to go to make him enter his clearance code. 

“ _Captain._ ” Armitage’s tinny voice pierced the air. 

Brendol spun around in horror, his eyes conveying even deeper terror when he saw who he faced. Quick as lightning, Phasma's hand was at his throat, locking her grip into his fat neck. He choked and clawed at her hand as she answered her comm.

“Yes, Lt. General?”

_ “Please come to my office as soon as you can. It is of an urgent matter. _ ” If she hadn’t known the nature of his command, she would have missed the anxiety in his voice.

“I will be there as soon as possible.”

_ “I cannot stress enough how urgent this is, Captain.” _

“Yes, sir.” Signing off, she loosened her grip on the General, and he gasped for precious oxygen. She noticed his palm kept slapping at the pocket of his trousers. A signaling device, no doubt.

“He won’t be coming,” she told him as she drew out the red knife concealed in her waist band behind her back. Brendol’s eyes went wide again, and she threw him to the floor in disgust.

Brendol coughed, his red face brighter than ever, as he tried desperately to get his bearings.

“What did you do to him?” His voice was hoarse once he finally spoke. She was surprised he voiced concern about Cardinal until she realized he was merely inquiring about the chances of his bodyguard coming to the rescue.

“Dead,” she stated.

“Why?” His voice was still raspy but he was gaining his speech back.

“He came belligerently on his own. His agenda was unclear.”

“Fuck,” Brendol sighed. “I should have doubled his vitamin dosage earlier when he exhibited emot-…” he halted, glancing up at her warily.

“Emotions, sir?” she asked suspiciously. “Vitamins have something to do with that?”

“Never mind,” he replied quickly. 

“Is there something in the vitamins, sir?”

“You were once an excellent and obedient soldier. Armitage has ruined you.”

“Your son is the only person worth my loyalty in this entire galaxy.”

“Did he order you to kill me?”

“No,” she replied. “He’s very insistent I learn to think for myself.”

“I should have never given you to him,” Brendol cursed more to himself.

“I am not a thing to give.”

“Aren’t you?” he huffed out a laugh. “You’re a glorified stormtrooper. There are droids with more human aspects than you can ever p-…”

He was cut off as she grabbed him by the collar and dragged him unwillingly to a chair. He choked and clawed again while she roughly set him in the seat and glared menacingly into his frightened eyes.

“Tell me everything you know.” Her tone could not have been more threatening.

“About what?” he feigned ignorance. She slapped him across the face so hard she almost knocked him out. His eyeballs rolled in their sockets like loose marbles until he was able to snap them into focus on her. It took long enough she lost her patience with him.

“BRI unit. What is that?” she said as she jerked him by his collar.

“Stop shaking me!”

“Tell me!”

“It’s a science unit!” he shouted, trying to get her to stop roughing him up. “Biologically reinforced individual! It’s how soldiers were made!”

“Biologically reinforced individual?” she repeated slowly, brows furrowed in perplexity as she loosened her grip.

“B.R.I.” Hux confirmed, breathing hard enough to sound wheezy.

“How many BRI soldiers are there?”

“43. Not nearly enough.”

“What do you mean?”

“There were thousands of children that underwent the process. It was expensive and time consuming. He was supposed to be making an army of super soldiers, but only 43 survived.”

“Keep talking. What happened to the rest of the soldiers?”

“This was during the limbo after the fall of the Empire. The New Republic and the First Order were vying to take control of the galaxy. At the mention of super soldiers, both burgeoning governments wanted a piece of the science so they both contributed large investments. For years the super soldier research lab toiled but never managed to produce any results because the process was so slow. After a few years, both governments, not knowing what it was they were funding, had thought they would have clones or enhanced weapons by then and sent representatives to the lab. When an investigation revealed the procedures involved, neither government wanted to claim responsibility for it and the funds dried up. The lab was shut down and the remaining children sent to military academies.

“Before the shut down, all 43 surviving super soldiers were still children and could not be exhibited as successful results due to the backlash we would most certainly receive. Instead, they were all individually evaluated and then ranked. Cardinal showed the most promise so he was given the codename BRI-1. You could have been BRI-1 due to your skill and speed alone, but you demonstrated a more troublesome disposition. The risk of you overcoming your conditioning was higher so you were bumped down to BRI-3.

“At that time I was given the position of overseeing the cadet academies, so I was able to keep the codenames in place to keep track of the super soldiers as they went through military training. It came as no surprise that you were the best in your unit. The super soldier program only enhanced physical benefits, but you were clearly more intelligent than the rest. I knew that if your conditioning didn’t fail, you would be the most successful.”

“The rest of the soldiers…where are they?”

“Half of them are dead. A soldier is only as good as his brains. Those not smart enough often ran into trouble and couldn’t fight their way out. A lot of them were lost in the ambushes set up by the Resistance. You have a knack for spotting traps and have successfully avoided them, and therefore death.

“The rest of the BRI’s are scattered across the galaxy serving where they’re needed. None of them have a rank higher than sergeant. Qualities like leadership and intelligence could not be improved through biological enhancement.”

“What is this biological enhancement? How was it done?”

“A serum. It was injected repeatedly until the subject no longer needed it.”

“Is that what killed the other children?”

Brendol gulped down a massive bubble of fear. “Yes.”

“Why is my codename missing from my recorded history?”

He seemed surprised she knew that. “So full of questions,” he seemed mostly to inquire. “You came here looking to get answers, didn’t you? This wasn’t instigated by Cardinal at-…”

Phasma slapped him across his other cheek, determined not to let him get off track. He managed to shake out of his stupor enough to stare fearfully at the red blade pointed near his throat.

“Why is my codename missing, Brendol?” she asked again. He flinched when she used his name so informally.

“At first it was to cover the fact children were being experimented on,” he answered bitterly. “Lately it’s because the Resistance is growing stronger. Bolder too. Their hackers have been after our files looking for slander to bias other people into joining their cause.”

Phasma glared at the floor in thought.

“What about the boy?”

Brendol cocked a brow at her in bewilderment. “What boy?”

“The blonde one,” Phasma replied, placing the blade closer to his neck either to jog his memory or in case he decided to lie. “The one who was with me in the lab.”

Brendol’s jaw slackened until it dropped entirely. “You don’t mean-…?” He was too shocked to finish his statement. “How can you possibly know that?” Phasma pierced the cold knife into his skin impatiently.

“Who was he?”

“There were other children from your planet!” he cried out in panic. “You had a brother!”

Phasma was stilled in quiet shock for a moment. “What happened to him?”

“He was the first from your clan to be taken!”

“What do you mean?”

“He was the first to die!” 

In anger, Phasma accidentally penetrated the blade into his skin, causing a bead of blood to slip down his pale neck. “What was his name?”

“I don’t know!” Brendol screamed out in terror. “It was so long ago!”

A shrill ring caused them both to pause in alarm. The door. Someone was calling.

Phasma put a finger to her lips though she was sure the room was sound proofed. The comm at the door suddenly came to life.

“General Hux?” the stormtrooper waiting outside called. “You’re needed on the bridge, sir.”

An escort. Something had happened. It was possible Captain Cardinal had been found dead in the training rooms by this point. Phasma knew that protocol dictated the stormtrooper search the room if the call went unanswered. She could see the monitor where she stood and noted the stormtrooper silently paging his superior officer on his comm for permission to override the door lock.

Phasma turned to Hux. “Tell me everyth-…”

“Help! Help!” Brendol shouted madly. “Captain Ph-…!”

A quick slice to his trachea instantly stopped the screaming. Blood pulsed out of the gaping wound in a fountain of red. Brendol’s eyes rolled to the back of his head, and his body slumped to the floor in dead weight.

His death had been too quick, but Phasma had no time to reflect on that now. In a grand gesture, she cleaved the red knife deep into his back and silently pulled herself into the ventilation shaft, closing it behind her. She heard the door to the room slide open just as she shimmied her way back to the utility closet.

 

The alarm was blaring throughout the ship by the time she reached the utility closet. Faster than she had ever done so before, Phasma snapped her armor plates on and clasped her cape around her neck as she crept out. Luckily the stormtroopers were converging on the other side of the hallway and she went unnoticed into the waiting turbolift. The doors closed on her, and she was alone in the small elevator.

“ _ Captain, where are you _ ?” Armitage Hux’s voice carried through her comm in a near squeal. She had no way of explaining, so she didn’t. The turbolift opened to the training decks, and she stealthily made her way back to the room where she had left Cardinal dying. She expected the door to be unlocked, with stormtroopers surrounding his dead body, but she found it closed and no one else around.

Glad to be able to complete her task without any more problems, she unlocked the door and opened it to find blood everywhere, the electrosword lying haphazardly on the mat, her silverstaff a sticky red in the pool of blood, but no body. In a rare state of bewilderment, Phasma ran into the room and followed the bloody trail to a droid deposit. The chute to discard broken droids was slippery with blood as far down as she could see, and she cursed herself for not having killed him before leaving.

“ _ Captain! _ ” 

Phasma threw her comm into the wall, breaking it into components, then went to the computer at the edge of the room. Sweat stung her eyes as she anxiously tapped into the database, looking for the records.

The red alarm for the discovery of Brendol’s corpse was still blaring but a new one joined it. White and high pitched; all hands on deck. The ship was under attack.

Adrenaline spiking, Phasma deleted all records of her whereabouts starting with the one where she locked the door to the training room with Cardinal dying inside. To anyone investigating, it would appear she had been there all along. For good measure, she deleted all of Captain Cardinal’s whereabouts since his arrival on the ship. Satisfied, she stripped off her cape, tore it, and threw it to the ground.

She got on her hands and knees in the blood, making sure some of it found its way behind her plates, then patted some more strategically around her chest and back plates. She then grabbed the electrosword, gave it a long hard look of grief, raised it in the air, and sliced it clean through her leg, just under her groin.

Despite knowing it was coming, Phasma roared out a scream of pain, dropping to the mats as she gripped the hilt of the sword with tremendous intensity. Less than ten seconds later, the door opened and a squad of stormtroopers rushed in.

“Captain,” the nearest one came to her on bended knee. “Are you all right?”

She grabbed him by his chest plate and pulled him closer so that their helmets almost touched. “Did you find Captain Cardinal?” She demanded through gritted teeth.

“No, sir,” the trooper replied in slight alarm. “He fled in a stolen TIE fighter.”

If she knew how to curse, she would have. She simply slumped back in defeat and waved her hand at the squad. “Get me to the infirmary.”

 

Lt. General Hux could be heard before he was seen.

“...-need to see her! Let me pass!” She watched him stumble into her medical room while the droid repaired the nerve damage in her leg. He came to her purposefully and then glanced down at her leg, nearly losing his most recent meal.

“Oh, god…” he mumbled, raising the crook of his elbow to his mouth. “That looks so painful.”

“Sir,” she stated, simply to pull him back to the issue at hand.

“Yes, Captain, you’ve heard the news?”

“Yes, sir,” she replied with no emotion. “I’m sorry for your loss.” It was merely something she was trained to say. He waved it away indifferently.

“Yes, fine,” he answered, probably because he’d heard it a hundred times in the last half hour. “There’s an investigation into my father’s death. A member of internal affairs will be here shortly to-…”

He had no time to relay the information before a short, balding man came striding in wearing Major’s stripes on his officer’s uniform.

“Captain Phasma, I presume,” he said in a high, whiny tone. He looked exactly how a man from internal affairs would look. “I need your report on Captain Cardinal as soon as possible.”

“I will write it up as soon as I am done here,” she said. 

“I would prefer if you relay your report to me now,” he replied with a cool tone.

“Oh, come now,” Hux complained. “It’s barely been thirty minutes and she’s currently injured. You can’t give her a little time to regain her composure?”

“With all due respect, Lt. General, these investigations are best assessed at the soonest possible time after the fact. A murder has been committed and events need to be documented expeditiously.” He turned to Phasma. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind giving your report of the suspect.”

Phasma was currently wearing her entire uniform excluding cape and the plate over her punctured thigh. She was glad he did not ask her to remove her helmet. “Certainly, sir. I was in the training rooms when Captain Cardinal entered.”

“How did he seem?”

“Agitated.”

“Was there blood on him?”

“None that I could tell, but he wears all red and could have possibly been camouflaged.”

“What happened after he came in?”

“He asked me questions.”

“What kind of questions?”

“He wanted to know if I knew General Brendol Hux well.”

“Why would he ask that?”

“I’m not sure, sir.”

“What else?”

“He asked me about my previous codename.” Phasma was taking a risk raising the issue but hoped it wasn’t well enough known to give them reason to send her to re-conditioning.

“What did you tell him?” The inspector seemed less concerned what her name had been than why Cardinal was asking questions.

“Only that it was given to me at the military academy.”

“Anything else?”

“No.”

“What started the fight?”

“He attacked me with little warning. I defended myself.”

“Give me the play-by-play.”

“He pulled his electrosword on me. I already had my silverstaff in hand. We combated. In the end I had punctured him just under his arm. He managed at that moment to pierce his sword into my leg.”

“How long until you were found?”

“About two minutes.”

“What did you do in the meantime?”

“Cardinal pulled himself to the droid deposit chute. Every time I tried to stop him he kicked his foot into the sword. I passed out for a moment, and when I came to, he was gone.”

“Hmm…” the inspector nodded. He seemed to be less interested in her story the more she spoke. He tried to throw her a curve anyhow. “Did he use a red knife at any point?”

“No.”

“Did you see him carrying one?”

“No.”

“Hmm…” The inspector jotted notes into his datapad. Phasma wondered how much longer this was going to take. Underneath the helmet, she was sweating profusely, nervous that she would be called out for some detail she overlooked.

“I’m just going to fit a few details into your statement, Captain,” the inspector finally said after a brief moment that felt like a lifetime to her. “Lt. General, you said you spoke with your father right before he was killed.”

“Yes.”

“And then you called Captain Phasma on her comm as soon as you left your father’s room.”

“Yes.”

“And you received this communication, Captain?”

“I did, sir.”

“You stated, Lt. General, that you asked Captain Phasma to come to your office.”

“That’s correct.”

“Where were you when you received this message, Captain?”

“I was in the training room.”

“Were you alone?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why did you not immediately go to Lt. General Hux’s office?”

“I was accosted by Captain Cardinal.”

“How long after the message from Lt. General Hux?”

“Almost immediately.”

“Hmm…” the inspector looked at his datapad with a finger pressed to his lips in deep contemplation. Suddenly Phasma understood the problem. She briefly glanced at Hux in alarm and could see him working it out in his head. The timeline. If Phasma’s story was to believed, there was no conceivable way Cardinal could have killed General Hux and made it down to the training rooms to confront her in that time.

From over the inspector’s shoulder, Armitage Hux stared hard at Phasma.

“I’m just trying to place Captain Cardinal’s footsteps throughout all this,” the inspector said with a hint of distrust. “By all accounts, he murdered General Hux, deleted his records on the ship, came down to the training rooms, and picked a fight with Captain Phasma in the span of thirty seconds.”

There was a brief pause before Hux answered. “By my calculations, he had about ten minutes.”

The inspector whirled around to face him skeptically. “Your calculations? You said you immediately called Captain Phasma once you left your father’s room.”

“That’s correct. I immediately called her after I had walked to my office and checked my messages. That’s about ten minutes.”

“With all due respect,” the inspector huffed impatiently, “we have differing views of immediate. Fine then, his movements have been accounted for but we still haven’t placed motive.”

“I believe I may have one,” Hux remarked. “As I told you my father and I talked before his death, but I did not divulge what it was that was said. 

“It was said you two had been seen arguing.”

“Yes, but you don’t know what about. He told me that he was more impressed with Captain Phasma than with his current bodyguard, Captain Cardinal. He suggested a transfer. My Captain for his. Naturally, I was upset by this idea. I am quite satisfied with my current Captain.”

“And Captain Cardinal knew this?”

“I don’t believe so, unless he had been already hiding in the room and overheard the conversation.”

“Why would he have been hiding in the room?”

“Why would he have been hiding?” Hux asked in a clear stall. “Why... because he was already suspicious of my father wanting to transfer Captains. My father insinuated that Cardinal was displaying signs of high tolerance to his vitamin intake. Without upping the dosage, it’s possible more emotive behaviors broke through. It would make sense that in a jealous rage, Captain Cardinal would murder my father and then seek out the other person who he hated.”

The inspector hummed in thought, eyeing his datapad, looking for holes in the timeline. Ultimately, he slipped the pad into his pocket and saluted Lt. General Hux.

“Seems everything checks out then,” he said with a satisfied smile. Phasma sighed in relief and noted Hux’s shoulders seemed to ever so slightly relax. “Thank you, sir. You’ve been very helpful.” He turned to her and nodded. “Captain.”

She returned the acknowledgement and the inspector strode out of the room with head held high, probably glad to have been able to close the case so quickly.

“Captain,” Hux said, turning to her with unease. “I suggest this moment never come up in conversation between us again.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied with a more shaken voice than had ever escaped her before.

“Good.” He placed a hand on her shoulder. “You’re an excellent officer and am glad to retain you as my Captain.”

“Yes, sir.” Her helmet hid her smile as he left her medical room.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having issues posting this. Needless to say, AlynnaStrong is the sole author of this chapter and EmpireMurderer is a techno-idiot.

“An insertion point half a kilometer north of the village center should allow us to avoid the bottlenecks in the terrain best suited for ambush.  I also doubt that they would plant IEDs so close to their areas of heaviest population,” Phasma said. Years had passed since General Brendol’s Hux’s demise, and ever since then she voiced her opinions more frequently at strategy planning meetings.  Some of the other officers plainly did not like it, but General Armitage Hux dependably took her side. 

First Order politics were not as simple as the chain of command she’d learned at the military academy.  There was also an interlocking web of alliances and favors owed between commanding officers. They had secrets they held over one another.  Family loyalties, sector factions, even some anciently held discriminations were also factors. She’d learned via Brendol that her status as a bio-engineered person put her in less than human category for those in the know.  Fortunately, the BRI project had been highly classified, so only the most lofty of rank knew about her origin. The rest saw no reason to doubt that she was exactly as she appeared – a stormtrooper of extraordinary capabilities.  She planned to gradually reduce the number of people who knew her secret over time.

“Excellent suggestion, Captain Phasma,” Hux said.  “One more matter. Lord Kylo Ren has requested to lead this mission.  I trust that will not present any complications.”

“No, sir.  A warrior of his caliber is always welcome.  We can provide him with a security escort if he wishes.”

“I’m sure that will not be necessary.  He wants to handle interrogation of the village elders himself.”

“Yes, sir.”  Phasma braced herself.  She genuinely respected the Sith lord’s power, but close proximity to him always brought forth troubling images from her mind.  She would need to steel herself to maintain focus on this mission.

 

In the three months aboard Starkiller base, Phasma rarely encountered the Sith Lord. He was often out hunting throughout the galaxy as the Supreme Leader’s personal fixer. The few times he had been close enough to trigger images in her mind gave her visions of the boy she now knew to be her brother. They were almost always the same. Her brother with his arm slung over her shoulder, pointing across the waters to the brightness. His smile and silent words invoked a calmness that she was not used to but welcomed all the same.

Currently, Kylo Ren had taken his own shuttle while Phasma and her troops stood in silence aboard their transport. They touched down north of the village of Tuanul on the planet Jakku.  According to their information, the village was full of Resistance sympathizers, and their leader possessed knowledge about a missing Jedi that the Sith Lord was determined to draw from his mind.

The transport doors hissed open, and Phasma stood to lead her troops down the ramp.  Kylo Ren waited by the exit as they disembarked. He wore his black mask, which Phasma found strangely comforting.  She always wore her helmet when out of her quarters and tended to distrust the conditioning of stormtroopers who preferred to walk about open-faced.  Anyone under her command soon learned that being out of uniform even during downtime was a ticket to becoming her next sparring partner (which never ended well).  

As she passed she expected the same vision but could not have been more wrong. Perhaps it was the Sith Lord’s current mood that brought a new, more intense memory.  Phasma struggled, largely without success, to remain in the present.  She saw her brother taken away by men dressed entirely in white. He was the oldest of them and the strongest. He’d always been in charge of protecting the little ones when the clans were raiding.  The men in white brought him back to the sleeping room many days later, just as she’d given up hope of seeing him again. He had changed. His body troubled him greatly though he could not identify a specific injury.  “It hurts; everything hurts,” he’d repeat over and over, eyes wild with pain. He was jumpy, scared of every sound. He seemed to have developed such acute hearing that a roomful of children talking quietly caused him to clutch his head.  Still he was alive, and she was grateful for that. He gradually improved, until they took him away again. When he returned a second time, it was worse…

“Good hunting, Captain,” Kylo Ren said.

“Thank you, sir.  And to you,” Phasma managed to reply.  The vision had been her most intense one yet. After it had finally stopped clouding her mind, she’d rarely been so eager for a chance to fight.  It didn’t particularly matter to her whose blood ran in the streets so long as it replaced the sight of the bloody wall.

The FN series troopers followed her in a precise formation.  The FNs were were her best squadron; their deployment here emphasized the importance of the mission.  She had been encouraged by General Hux to customize their training as she thought would be most effective.  She demanded much of them, but the metrics backed her up. They had the best endurance, were the most accurate with their blasters, and (an innovation of her own) took care to protect their own lives and one another.  

Most of them had been raised in the program since early childhood and had no memories beforehand.  Unlike her, they were legitimate blank slates for First Order indoctrination. It had taken well, with Cardinal’s early programming sinking deep roots into their psyches.  Phasma ground her teeth inside her mask. Cardinal’s escape was still a sore point for her. He hadn’t resurfaced yet, but the odds of him dying by misadventure seemed slim.  He was (arguably) as talented as she; most likely he would bide his time to orchestrate an effective strike.

The village of Tuanul offered a surprising amount of resistance for a loosely organized group of rebels with primitive weapons.  Phasma and her squadron won the day but endured a real cost during their conquest. FN-2003 sustained a fatal wound, falling to the sneak attack of a resistance pilot.  Phasma supervised as the villagers were led into the city square and assembled for interrogation. She was please to note that the pilot was among them.

 

Something was amiss with FN-2187.  He had failed to fire his blaster during the village liquidation, contrary to her direct orders.  He’d even brazenly removed his helmet after the mission. Phasma began to feel the first prickles of doubt.  She encouraged them to form bonds of comradeship with one another to better support themselves as a team. FN-2187 and FN-2003 were particularly close.  Perhaps the death of FN-2003 had impaired FN-2187’s effectiveness. She would have him reconditioned, of course. Hopefully that would stem the damage. She could back away from the unit bonding events and monitor for any changes.

The planet of Jakku spun below.  Though her stormtroopers performed well (with the exception of FN-2187), the mission had not been an unqualified success.  The Sith Lord lost his temper when he failed to extract a key piece of intelligence from the Resistance leader. His anger reached across the training yard, affecting Phasma and dislodging another vision from her mind.  In it, she picked up… something (a long, thin, metal tool coated with blood). Overcome with crazed fury at the man who was always watching, she attacked him, driving the tool through his hand, then pulling it sideways to rip out a large chunk of flesh.  He screamed, then glared down at her, his imperturbable expression breaking for once.  _ You’re next _ , she could practically hear him thinking.

FN-2187 did not report for reconditioning.  In fact, his tracker disappeared from the  _ Finalizer _ around the same time as the prisoner escaped and the TIE-fighter was stolen.  Phasma’s heart beat faster. A physiological reaction to fear, she knew. She’d looked it up.  Ever since learning that her vitamin tablets contained drugs to suppress her emotions, she’d been spitting them into the toilet.  Almost right away she felt the difference – greater agitation, pain sensitivity, time dilation, occasional irrational obsessions. However, she had found that the strength of emotion was a difficult experience to deal with when confronted by it’s full effects. Regulating emotion turned out to be much more complicated than she had expected and she began to use them on a regular basis again after one of her squadrons was lost in a battle and a strange heaviness pulled her to the ground of her private chambers with her eyes threatening to leak and her heart feeling ripped to shreds. Now she used vitamins like a bad habit, only in times she felt she really needed to dampen her emotions in order to do her duty.     

Take FN-2187, for example.  She should be angry at him and ready to single-mindedly hunt him down and punish his desertion.  Anything less would show that disobedience was tolerated within the First Order. She was experiencing more than the proper righteous determination, though.  There was also… hurt? She felt personally rejected, all her hard work taken for granted. Was he really so dim that he couldn’t see all the training had a purpose?  (Hey, there was the anger! But it didn’t last). Then she worried about him, all on his own without his squad. Which was stupid of her because she fully intended to kill him.  (More anger, but at herself now?). She was even a little proud of him for being resourceful enough to free the resistance pilot and escape. (That was… not the right way to think). She took half a dose of her vitamins for the time being.  All the confusing stimuli might be impairing her own effectiveness.

 

General Hux acted as a steady beacon for Phasma to navigate these troubling times.  His faith in her was well earned, but she treasured it nonetheless. Sometimes she wondered if he’d gone so far out of his way to cultivate an alliance with her as a strategic move to offset his physical limitations and tactical predictability.  Other times – mainly since regulating her own vitamin usage – she felt it may be something more, a honest yearning to share the burden of command with a companion he respected. The  _ Finalizer _ and now  _ Starkiller _ was a high profile post, and he couldn’t show indecisiveness in front of other subordinates.  She and Kylo Ren seemed to be exceptions.

While Phasma’s title remained Captain, her actual rank rose to Lt. General.  Hux continued to expand her responsibilities, inviting her to participate in discussions of more broad ranging strategies about the allocation of First Order forces should any misfortune befall the New Republic.  She was present for the analysis of intelligence gathered from resistance sources on Jakku. While Kylo Ren had been disappointed in the quality of the information he’d extracted from the rebel sympathizers, the First Order picked up some valuable leads.  One of them pointed to a suspected Resistance hub hidden in the interior of an asteroid in the Sulima system.

Hux proposed sending a squadron of stormtroopers to investigate, and Phasma offered to personally take charge of the mission.  She always preferred to lead when her troops entered unknown territory. They were her responsibility, and she didn’t take their lives lightly.  Ever since she’d heard herself referred to as ‘an expensive war machine and nothing more,’ she paid careful attention to the way other commanding officers referred to stormtroopers.  To her horror, they were generally regarded as expendable, despite all their careful training. Phasma wagered that not one in ten of those officers could successfully execute the duties of a stormtrooper on an average mission.

Hux reluctantly assigned her 100 soldiers from the TN battalion and sent them on their way.  In truth, he found Phasma’s need to be directly involved in combat regrettable. He would rather have her available in case he needed another expert point of view on a strategic scenario.  She’d become a wonderful planning partner now that she thought for herself more. He could hardly complain if that new independence led her to places he would have her avoid.

 

Three seconds into the scan of the asteroid, Phasma could tell that it would be a waste of the First Order’s resources to send in a full squadron.  This was no hub of resistance activity, but rather a lightly defended relay station. There would probably be one reflector dish guarded by some droids and a very unlucky mechanic.  Sometimes opportunity presented itself in unusual forms, however. 

“The best approach will be a covert insertion of a two person team using the stealth shuttle.  A more open attack will trigger hidden alarms. We will proceed to the communications relay console, plant a retransmission device, and leave.  Naturally, if we are spotted we will defend ourselves. The relay will continue to function for some time until the Resistance can spare a ship to check on the caretakers.  Until then, we will have a tap into all communications entering and exiting this sector.

“I will lead the mission.  Do I have a volunteer to be my second?”

Phasma smiled as the entire TN squadron stepped forth to volunteer.  She pointed at TN-2149. She was one of the most slightly built stormtroopers, but possessed a nearly silent tread and a tireless energy that rivaled Phasma’s own.  

“TN-2149, I believe you will do.  We will infiltrate as quietly as possible, move quickly, and accomplish our mission.”

“Yes sir.”

As predicted, the base’s unmanned defenses posed no challenge.  Phasma and TN-2149 slipped past the droids and stayed in the blind spots of security cameras until they reached the central monitoring chamber.  Phasma could see the console and would need only seconds of access to plant the device. There was only the tiny matter of the woman occupying the room.  Though unarmored, she moved with an athlete's casual grace. 

Phasma considered her options.  If they killed her, the data tap was sure to be discovered when the Resistance came to investigate why no one responded to their hails.  However, she did not seem inclined to leave the room, and Phasma did not want to wait around and allow their transport to be discovered. She drew out her stun baton.  Perhaps if they left her unconscious, she would not find the tap when she awakened. 

_ Neither the New Republic nor the First Order wanted to claim responsibility for the BRI program _ , Brendol had said. _  The New Republic.  The Resistance! _

Something triggered inside Phasma’s mind.  A flash of her brother. In the last few years she had sat on the information regarding the BRI project because there was nowhere to take it, no way of finding out more within the First Order, but hadn’t Brendol said the Resistance had hacked into the files?

She would have been content to have the vision of her brother, the one of him smiling at her while they were on the beach, for the rest of her life, but the one from yesterday on the planet Jakku had drudged up something grim and dark. Someone had killed her brother and Brendol Hux was not the only one to place blame...

Phasma smoothly transferred her baton to her left hand, drawing her blaster with her right.  TN-2149 drew hers as well, waiting for Phasma’s orders.

Phasma snaked her left arm behind her partner’s back and pressed the baton firmly into the joint between her armor plates.  TN-2149 choked back a startled scream and collapsed in a heap. Out of respect, Phasma had used the highest setting, so she would likely be out for a while.

The brief commotion drew the attention of the Resistance agent.  She turned to see the First Order’s prime propaganda tool, Captain Phasma, pointing a blaster at her while stepping past the limp body of another stormtrooper.  She knew her own weapon was hopelessly far away, so there was little she could do but raise her hands and watch Phasma’s trigger finger hoping to spot movement in time for a last desperate dodge.

“I thought it might be best to talk in private,” Phasma said.

Sami's calculations of her odds of surviving the next minute skyrocketed.  “I am willing to chat.” She tucked a stray strand of dark hair behind her ear and tried to look like the First Order was not her sworn enemy.  She would remain loyal to the Resistance but still do her best to stay alive moment to moment.

“I find myself in need of an information broker with ties to the Resistance.  Do you know of someone?”

“Maybe.”

“I’ll need your help. I often find the Resistance are not forthcoming with me.”

“Perhaps it’s your shining personality,” Sami said, indicating the chrome armor.

“Quite.  If you would like to survive to pester the First Order another day, I need two services rendered.  First, I will need you to provide the Resistance’s most trusted information broker with my private contact address.”  Phasma sent an encrypted link to the console with a few economical movements. “Second, you will attach this data tap into your system.  It will pick up and retransmit to the First Order anything that flows through this network. If you choose to discontinue using the network or send misinformation, that’s no concern of mine.”

Sami nodded.  Living through the day would have been beyond her wildest fantasies not long ago.

“You agree?”

“Yes.  I will travel to see the broker as soon as my shift is done here.  Two more days.”

“Acceptable.  Now attach the data tap.  I need to see it function before I leave.”

Sami did so, reflecting that the First Order’s Captain Phasma was quite a bit less loyal than she’d assumed.  Kriff, she hadn’t even known she was a woman.

Phasma left carrying the unconscious form of TN-2149.  Some ante-retrograde amnesia is common after a sudden shock, so she’d have to fill her in about how the instrument panel short circuited and delivered a massive surge of electricity.  All was well, though. They escaped otherwise unharmed, and the mission was accomplished.

 

Sami arrived at Maz Kanata’s castle slightly ahead of schedule.  She abandoned the relay station as soon as she was sure the First Order had departed.  She could not wait long and knew the compromised communication system no longer needed protection.  She met with her superiors in the Resistance to inform them of the bewildering encounter. They, in turn, sent her straight to Maz but expressed no opinion on whether the wily pirate queen should co-operate or not.  Maz’s instincts were second to none. She would be able to tell if the risk was worth the reward.

Sami gave the matter a fair amount of thought during her time alone.  Her life had been spared by the imposing, powerfully built captain (assuming she properly filled out the armor; Sami believed she’d be disappointed to learn it was manufactured to make her look larger than life).  The favor she requested was so strange. What could the First Order need from a Resistance information broker, other than the location of Resistance bases and leaders? Maz would not give her any of that, of course.  She might be ostensibly neutral in the galactic struggle, but she definitely leaned against the smothering excesses of the First Order.

Perhaps that was the wrong question, Sami considered.  Captain Phasma hadn’t mentioned the First Order, and her contact address was via a darknet server that kept communications anonymous.  She seemed to want information on a personal matter. Now that was interesting; the First Order’s great Captain Phasma had a human side.

Maz heard out the proposition and agreed to it almost immediately.  Sami knew the pirate queen had a reputation for boldness, but this seemed closer to recklessness.  

“Mistress Kanata, not to tell you your business, but allow me to emphasize, just so we’re clear, how very formidable the Captain is in person.”

“Yes dear, I'm sure she's very impressive, but she’s about to tell me her greatest weakness,” Maz said.

“That seems-”

“Oh, she won’t do it on purpose.  But you see, she needs something, desperately.  Something that all the might of the First Order can’t provide.  She wants it so badly she’s willing to consort with the likes of me and to keep it a secret from her superiors.  That is a thing worth knowing. Shall we give her a call? I'd like to remain anonymous, so we’ll use your pretty face.  Don't worry. I will tell you what to say.”

Sami nodded, eyes wide and slightly terrified as Maz keyed in the code.  A complicated series of clicks sounded as the line opened and was secured by both parties.

Sami put her face in front of the camera lens.  “Hello again, Captain.”

“I trust you delivered my message.”

“Yes.  Our broker is ready for your questions.  We can discuss payment when we evaluate the complexity of the request.”

“Very well.  I am searching for information on the BRI program – that’s Biologically Reinforced Individuals – it was started after the fall of the Empire.  Particularly, I would like to know more about the man in charge and whether his research is still ongoing.”

Maz looked around wildly and held up three fingers.  

“Three hours,” Sami said, and terminated the connection.  “What’s going on?” she asked Maz.

“She’s a BRI.  That makes sense.  That makes a lot of sense.  So many of them disappeared after the audit.  I didn’t think they’d dare promote one to Captain.  Their brainwashing must be better than I thought. Or maybe not.  She’s asking questions. Ha!”

“You’re going to call her back?”

“Oh yes indeed.  And I have a name for her, though sadly, not a location.”  Maz drummed her fingers on the nearest flat surface. “Well, it can’t be helped.  He’s a freelancer now and moves around constantly.”

“Do you think she’ll kill him?”

“Most likely she’ll try.  But in the process, she’s going to learn the truth about her past, and that is going to cost the First Order a most formidable soldier.”


	6. Chapter 6

The BRI project was a source of contention for Maz. It was a heavily guarded secret because neither the New Republic nor the First Order wanted it known that twenty years ago both governments were responsible for the experimentation, torture, and deaths of so many children. In all that time, Maz and a small group of confidantes had been seeking out information about the BRI program hoping to expose it to the masses and turn the galaxy against the First Order. When it was discovered that her own government was also culpable, she was ‘urged’ to stand down.

Maz is a creature of justice, however. She continued to investigate, though now she had to stay under the radar of nearly everyone, and her accumulation of information was slow. Any news of the BRI project was personally logged by her, but it had been a long time since any new report came in. Years ago, she had been quietly investigating through a sub channel and had almost been tracked by a First Order security system. She quickly signed off before they could figure out her location, but the next time she searched the network, all the information had been deleted.

Maz was quite sure that people went missing over this project. Even the New Republic had its moral quandaries. There was no safety from this on either side.

Now here was an actual BRI, in the wild, looking for information. This was like catching lightning in a bottle. It was as impossibly rare as finding the spawn of a rebellious clone trooper, of which she could say she knew one of those too.

“Sami,” Maz stated clearly and with a graveness to her tone. “What you’ve heard today; you can never mention it to anyone.”

 

It was a busy day for Maz Kanata. Han Solo -  _ the _ Han Solo - showed up in her establishment. She didn’t really have time for this, she was supposed to be looking for the information on the BRI project, but how could she turn an old friend away? She had to help get the little BB unit to the Resistance before embarking on her attempts to turn the BRI soldier against her own government. Luckily for everyone in the galaxy, Maz is an efficient person.

As soon as she could, she went down to her storage rooms to look for her BRI files. She only had two hours to find them and… _ what the hell _ ? Is that Jakku girl seeing a vision? She’s force sensitive!

 

Okay, an hour and a half left. Maz decided she’d better get to work before the chrome trooper got spooked by the delay and decided to cut all communication. It had been so long since she’d heard anything about the BRI program that she wasn’t quite sure where she had last placed the files. Fine. Maybe she could have been a little more efficient.

Maz Kanata rifled loudly through her boxes.

“There you are!” Sami said as she entered the room. “What are you looking for?”

“Datapad,” Maz stated. She found a stack and sat down on the nearest thing, a chest that looked old and decrepit, and pulled them to her lap. With each one, she would turn it over, look at the back, and utter a groan of disappointment.

Sami arched a brow at the ancient, little woman who was clearly so anxious to aid the shiny storm trooper. It seemed odd that Maz would be willing to hand over all she knew about some program to a First Order officer in the nose bleed section of the hierarchy. At least she seemed to be doing it out of some outside chance that this officer was willing to dispense her own brand of justice in the form Maz was likely to condone. Sami knew Maz well enough to trust her on this one no matter how morally dubious it sounded.

Maz was nearing the end of her stack and hadn’t yet found what she was looking for. Sami glanced at a different box of datapads on the floor. “Do you need any h-…?”

“Ah-ha!” Maz shouted triumphantly. She held a datapad up in the air. On the back was etched Beans, Rice and Idiots. “This is the information our mystery guest is looking for.”

“Mystery guest? It was clearly Capt-…”

“No names!” Maz cut her off. “This must remain an absolute secret! No one must know that a First Order officer might go rogue inside the government. If it were to get out that she was planning something against her own, she might get arrested or killed before she could carry out her plans, whatever they may be.”

“Okay, yeah, I get it,” Sami raised her hands up in capitulation. “Are you thinking she’s going to become part of the Resistance?”

“Of course not,” Maz conceded. “But what she wants certainly won’t hurt us. She’s after memories. She’ll get them with this.” She held up the datapad for show. “Granted, it’s hardly complete. Getting anything this deep seeded in secrecy was nearly impossible, but it might be enough.”

They were headed back to the console when screaming rang out from the cantina. With an uneasy glance at each other they both started running.

 

No one had ever seen anything like it before. Tendrils of light in the sky. Balls of fire where planets occupying the Hosnian System had once been. Maz stared up at the sky, forgetting for a moment the datapad in her hand.

A deafening boom rang out and the ground shook beneath their feet. Shock from the destruction was replaced with fear for their lives as TIE Fighters soared past in high pitched whines, shooting plasma bolts into the castle.

Most of the patrons weren’t sure why the First Order was taking a shoot first, ask questions later approach, but Maz certainly knew.  She pulled a blaster out of the pocket of her jacket and replaced it with the datapad. When was the last time she’d shot a stormtrooper? She couldn’t remember, but it had been too long.

Surprisingly, the fight didn’t last long. The rebels managed to supply reinforcements, and the First Order fled with the girl who’d seen the map, as opposed to taking the droid. Maz looked back at her castle and her heart sunk. Lost. So much lost.

From out of nowhere, Sami pulled herself up out of a hole in the ground, coughing as she wiped dirt and blood off her sleeve.

“That yours?” Maz asked, pointing at the red.

Sami shook her head. “Stormtrooper.”

“You don’t by any chance remember the private number to your mystery guest, do you?”

“No,” Sami replied. “But it’s on the datakey in your cas-…oh…”

They both looked discouragingly at the remains of the castle.

 

Three hours passed. Then five. Then seven.

Phasma paced the training room like a hungry tiger. This was not supposed to be taking so long. She had been glad not to receive the return call during the congregation on the surface of Starkiller while the laser fired, but she had certainly expected it by now. Her helmet was her only source of comfort, hiding the fact that she was anxious and upset. She masked it in her voice with shouting.

“Get that baton up higher, soldier!” she shouted. “And you! Don’t wait for an opening! Raise your blaster and make one!” All the soldiers in the unit could tell she was on edge, though they all assumed it was because FN-2187 had gone insane.

As they tried to impress her with their hard-learned tactics, Phasma felt the sweat of fear run cold down her neck. Every minute that passed without a call from the Resistance broker meant something was wrong. Her best guess was she was compromised. Perhaps she had unknowingly spoken with a First Order spy within the Resistance. Perhaps her private contact had been bugged. Perhaps the Resistance was currently making a deal with the First Order, telling them they had information about one of the higher ups if they would trade for the person that Kylo Ren had captured.

Every movement in her line of sight, every sound that echoed in her helmet caused her to flinch nervously, waiting for the moment she would be arrested. If they came for her there was one thing she was sure of; she was going down swinging.

The hours went by slowly. Kylo Ren finally arrived with his prisoner and Phasma was shocked to see that she was only a girl. There was a brief moment when the Sith Lord passed close enough to stir another memory.

_ Beautiful sandy beaches. Orange and red sunsets. Large caverns. Star destroyers hovering in the sky. People scared and screaming. _

_ “Why did you forsake us, Phasma?” _

A hand clapped her on her shoulder, and she turned to see General Hux giving her a concerned look.

“Captain, are you quite all right?”

“Yes, of course, sir,” she replied, trying hard to sound calm. Beneath her cape, her hand went to her sidearm. She would only knock him out, but everyone else would die if they tried to stop her.

“Good,” he nodded. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You are, after all, my most trusted officer.” He walked away with a confident step, and she slowly exhaled, not having realized she had been holding her breath. She watched him go, still second guessing his agenda, though she could read him well enough to know that he had sincerely meant it in good faith. He had been rather frustrated these last few months having to work more closely with the Sith Lord, with whom he did not enjoy a good working relationship. Perhaps it was the task of having fired upon the Hosnian System and therefore being in Snoke’s good graces that had him in high spirits today.

In that moment, Phasma could have smacked herself for being so stupid. Her contact, the Resistance broker…it was very likely she was on Hosnian Prime where most of the Resistance support was stationed. Her contact had probably been blown up.

 

Despite feeling assured her cover was still safe, Phasma went about seeking more information on the Resistance member she had conspired with at the relay station. She had managed to take a screenshot of the woman’s face and now entered it into the First Order criminal history databanks. The algorithm took seconds to recover a file with a criminal list not nearly as long as Phasma had expected.

Sami F. Wolffe

Born: 7 ABY

Place of Birth: Corellia

There were arrests for a few smuggling charges and one for trespassing, but nothing violent. At the very least, if Phasma could find a way, she could try to make contact again through other channels, though it was very likely this Sami Wolffe was dead.

While the thought that she would be thrown into a detention center anytime soon was floating further out of her mind, she did not sleep all that well that night.

 

The next day, Phasma reamed out her squads and pushed for better efficiency. With her lack of sleep, her anxiety through the roof, her emotions out of control due to flushing her vitamins, and now back at square one with her revenge plans, she was  _ not _ in a good mood. She didn’t think her day could get any worse until a giant ball of fur tackled her during one of her guard patrols through the base. She cried out in surprise and was quickly lifted and carried away by said furball.

Perhaps it was the lack of sleep and having been caught by surprise, but Phasma was unable to wrest out of the grasp of the Wookie until her feet were settled back on the floor and FN-2187 was in her face.

“Do you remember me?” he asked, eyes narrowed. He’d only been gone for four days. Did she think she would forget his betrayal so quickly?

“FN-2187.”

“That’s right, Phasma! I’m in charge!”

“Lower the shields.” A man, who was much too old to be on the kind of mission that required infiltrating a giant base, demanded of her.  She felt he couldn’t possibly back up his tone of voice at his age.

She paused to assess her risk. The old man she could easily take out. FN-2187 would certainly put up a fight, but she was a far superior soldier and would easily best him. The Wookie, however…

She had never seen a real Wookie before in her life. It was much taller than she had expected, and she wondered if they all came in that height or if it was taller than the average specimen. She glanced at the weapon it pointed just below her helmet so it angled towards her exposed neck. A bowcaster. That was definitely going to kill her if shot point blank.

With the information quickly analyzed in her head, she had only one answer.

“No.”

The two men sighed in frustration. The Wookie gave off some kind of odd shriek. Was that how Wookies spoke?

“Didn’t think it would be easy…” FN-2187 replied.

There were very few who had the command level to lower the shields. She was one of thirty on the base, and if they shot her it would take them a long time to find another. It was doubtful they could possibly kidnap someone else in the time their X-wings were sitting out in space waiting for some kind of signal. Even if they tried, the chances of them getting caught by her troopers was high. She was their last resort. Their only resort. And she wasn’t about to betray General Hux to these Resistance scumbags. She didn’t value her life enough.

To her surprise, FN-2187 pulled a datakey from his jacket, and with his arm locked straight out, held it up for her to see.

“I brought you some intel.”

It took her a moment for her thoughts to collect. Could this possibly be the intel she was looking for? How did FN-2187 get it? Who else in the resistance knows she’s trying to get information?

“What intel?” she finally responded.

“Something about a BRI project,” FN-2187 answered. “Maz said you wanted it, but I told her there was no possible way that you went to the Resistance for information or that you could be trusted. She insisted I use this as leverage if I ever found you.”

Phasma didn’t know of a Maz. How many people knew about this? These Resistance spies were all idiots and couldn’t keep anything confidential.

“So,” FN-2187 said, holding the datakey closer for her to take, “how about lowering the shields?”

“I need to see what’s on it first.”

“No.”

“Then no deal,” Phasma remarked stubbornly.

The old man, the Wookie and FN-2187 all glanced at one another uncomfortably. She could see the anxiety rising between them. They were clearly working under a time constraint.

“Fine,” the old man remarked. “I’ll take a look at the information and give you one place or name or detail just to see if it’s what you’re looking for. Then you lower the shields and you get to keep the datakey.”

Phasma considered this carefully and nodded. The old man took the datakey and inserted it into one of the nearby consoles where Phasma couldn’t see the screen. She could see the red light from the screen highlight the wrinkles of his face, and she wondered why the information was written in red.

“All these people are deceased…” Han muttered as he scrolled through. That made sense. The names of those pronounced dead often came up in red on the databanks, but it was hardly uplifting news to hear that her past was disappearing with the number of dead who could not supply answers.

“Is the name Hux listed on there?” Phasma asked. The old man nodded.

“A Brendol Hux. Relative to your general?”

“Affirmative. Anything else about him?”

“Only that he was in charge of administration. Does that mean anything to you?”

“Yes.” So far the information seemed to be checking out. She thought back to Cardinal. Brendol had separated them on purpose, but according to him there were 43 BRI’s and there were only six academies. What happened to the other BRI’s? “I need more information.”

“It feels confirmed that this is what you’re after.”

“I need more before I do as you ask. A name. One that’s not in red.”

“Here’s one,” the old man responded. “A Sol Rivas.”

Phasma glanced up at him in disbelief. That shifty officer was part of the project? There’s no way that was coincidence.

The old man pulled the datakey out of the port and gave the Wookie a nod of the head towards the security console. The Wookie pulled her roughly to the chair while the bowcaster stayed angled up into her neck. She had already given thought to this. She would not betray her General out of pride, but was she capable of doing it out of revenge?

The pull of memories suddenly came on their own. 

_ People fleeing. Children standing in the rain, femurs snapping under the weight piled on their backs. A man watching her, hiding his smile with his scarred hand. The blond boy, happy and holding her tight, showing her something across the water. Her brother.  _

_ Her mind cuts back to him, blood streaming out his ears, eyes devoid of life. _

_ Phasma. Where are you? Why aren’t you saving us? _

Captain Phasma entered in the code and lowered the shields. She promised herself that as soon as she broke away from them, she would alert her troops and these Resistance scumbags would die. She would kill them herself, both because they were loose ends to the Resistance broker and for making her step below her own standards.

She held out her hand in expectation.

“The datakey,” she demanded.

“Sure.” The old man held it up for her to see. Even with her quick speed and response time, he threw it down the trash chute before she could swipe it from his hand.

“That was low,” she seethed up at him, still hearing the datakey smacking against the hollow, metallic tube on its way down.

“Not as low as you’re going to get,” he replied as he pulled her communicator off her wrist. “Better go get it before I turn on the compactor.”

With a hard stare at the old man, Captain Phasma managed a scorching expletive before diving down into the trash chute.

 

There was no guarantee that the old man wouldn’t turn on the compactor while she was down there, but by this point her commitment was borderline obsessive. The place reeked; even through the ventilator of her helmet, it was the worst smell she'd ever had to endure. The datakey was much more difficult to find than she anticipated, especially as trash continued to rain down on her while she looked. She was still searching for it when the first surface explosions caused the planet to rock with the tremors.

A glint caught her eye, and she grabbed at the datakey mostly buried within a mound of expired protein paste. Wiping the datakey with her cape, she cursed the old man again and hoped the information had not been corrupted for both their sakes.

She opened a pouch of kyber powder and placed it along a sticky strip, then stuck the adhesive side of the strip to the wall. She fired a small plasma bolt into the strip, igniting the powder, and a chunk of the wall fell out. She stepped out into a hallway riddled with storm troopers running in chaos.

“Captain!” one shouted in disbelief. “General Hux has been looking all over for you!”

“My comm is down.”

“What are your orders?”

“Dispatch all TIE squadrons. Apprehend any intruders. Arrest and gag Lieutenant General Sol Rivas until further orders.”

“Lieutenant General Rivas?” the storm trooper questioned.

“Yes, relay that through your comm.”

“Yes, sir. Lieutenant General Rivas was just seen in this sector on deck four, sir.”

“Good, I’ll arrest him myself.” It was lucky that he was so close by at this moment. All she had to do was go to security, raise the shields back up, erase any data indicating she had been the one to lower them in the first place, and then apprehend and question Sol Rivas about the BRI project while her troopers got everything back under control.

It would have been that easy if, while she erased any log of her lowering the shields, the oscillators hadn’t at that moment been destroyed, causing a massive breach inside the base. Phasma felt the shock waves of the explosions and commanded the station to raise the shields, only to find they were non-operational. She wondered if perhaps she hadn’t underestimated the Resistance’s plans. There were at least two times in the past when the Empire had minimized the strength of a small band of rebels, and it pained her to find out she had not learned from history.

With blaster ready, Captain Phasma ran out of the security room and pulled the nearest trooper to her.

“Where’s Rivas?”

“He was seen running to the surface hangars, sir,” he replied as he pointed towards the turbolift. Phasma grunted her disapproval. She should not have had an alert for his arrest that he could have potentially heard. No doubt he was fleeing.

“How long ago?”

“A few minutes, sir.”

Good. She could still catch up. “Alert General Hux. Tell him to abandon the base.”

“General Hux has already left in his shuttle,” the trooper replied. “There’s a planet-wide comm alert telling everyone to do the same. Your name was specifically mentioned. The General’s orders are that you evacuate the base.”

“Fine. Get all science and engineering personnel out first. I’m going after Rivas.” She ran to the turbolift and ascended to the surface of the planet. Footprints left in the snow indicated Rivas’ direction.

She followed them to the hangars where she spied a man sprinting towards the large doors. Raising her blaster, she spied the scarred face of Lt. Sol Rivas in her crosshairs. Aiming for his legs, she fired just as another explosion rocked the planet and pulled her shot wide.

Phasma was fast but not fast enough to catch Rivas as he entered a TIE fighter and sailed it out of the hangar. There was only one TIE fighter left. Its pilot stared at Captain Phasma from beneath the ship.

“TN-3465. Do you know that fighter’s I.D. number, and can you track it?”

“...Yes, Captain.”

“Good. Prepare for immediate departure. We have a traitor to catch.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is heavily influenced by the Captain Phasma graphic novel. Though it isn't necessary to have read the graphic novel to read this chapter, some of the scenes are referenced and some of the dialogue was directly pulled from it.

Within a minute Captain Phasma and the TIE pilot were up in the air, following Lt. Sol Rivas. He was far enough ahead that he was only a pinpoint in space though his position on their radar pinged strong.

“Get as close as you can,” Phasma told TN-3465 as she manned the plasma cannon. “I’m going to try to disable his ship.”

 

The unexpected happened. From the corner of her eye, Phasma sensed a white light out in the vastness of space that should not be there. She looked in the direction of Starkiller and froze as orange explosions erupted off the surface of the planet. An implosion took out the rest of what remained, rings of explosive energy radiated out as the planet crumbled in on itself and then shattered out into trillions of pieces. Without hyperdrive, the TIE fighter was not swift enough to outrun the shock waves. 

“Keep the panels aligned with the waves!” Phasma shouted to the pilot just before the ruptured boom of sound caught the TIE in it’s wake, nearly deafening as it passed. TN-3465 stayed the course as heavy turbulence swept up the ship, rocking it hard enough to set off several alarms inside the cockpit. The waves were many and close together, keeping the TIE shaking as the pilot fought to control it from veering off. 

Phasma switched off the alarms and looked ahead of her to see Lt. Rivas’ TIE in distress. One of his solar panels had been badly damaged by the effects of the shock waves. It looked like he might have lost one of his engines as well.

The waves evened out and they were in empty space.

Phasma swallowed hard. An entire planet sized base gone. She had never thought the Resistance was capable of such a thing or she would have never lowered the shields. Something began to eat away at her; something she had never felt before. Shame? 

“Your orders, Captain?” TN-3465 asked hesitantly.

Phasma reached into one of the compartments of her ammo box and popped a few vitamins reserved for off world missions. Perhaps emotional suppression was best under these circumstances. She had her history to catch.

“Keep your distance,” she said. “Let’s see where he goes.”

  
  


They followed him to the planet Luprora, a wasteland of dark rock and murky waters. The air was undependable at best.

TN-3465 landed some distance from Rivas’ TIE and Phasma went to investigate. A trail of footprints indicated he had already fled.

“I don’t think he set down here on purpose,” Phasma said to the pilot as she disabled the communications, navigation and distress beacon to Rivas’ ship. “He just ran out of fuel.”

They followed the steps to an area indicating a fight had occurred. It appeared Lieutenant Rivas had been carried away by some unknown beast. Phasma could hardly suppress her exasperation. If he died before she could get anything out of him, she might destroy this planet from the air out of fury. So deep was her anger it threatened to overwhelm the amount of chemicals running through her system for quashing these exact emotional outbursts.

The Captain and her pilot came across a village of a dying people. It was here they learned what kind of creatures took Rivas and where he was most likely imprisoned. With instruction from some of the citizens and Phasma’s knack for strategy, the Captain came up with a plan to kill or ward off the beasts surrounding the lair Rivas was thought to be.

The plan went down without a hitch, leaving only the last leg of the journey which was to get to the top of a cliff.

“We must climb,” Phasma said as she started to ascend.

TN-3465 arched her neck up to give the cliff a skeptical glare. “I don’t know if I can scale that, Captain.”

“Then stay here.”

A loud screech heard in the distance had TN-3465 changing her mind. “Coming, Captain!”

Phasma was unnaturally good at climbing and always had been, though it seemed to her that she was better than even the stormtroopers seasoned by mountainous regions. Even with all the weight of her armor, she was far ahead of TN-3465. She looked back at the pilot and suddenly there were more than just her. Dozens of them. They were so young.

“I can hear them,” Phasma shouted to the children below. “Move faster!”

_ A girl about seven, not much older than Phasma, missed a foothold and began to slip down the rock face. _

_ “Siv!” _

_ The girl caught herself before falling all the way down to the bottom. “I’m okay,” she replied as soon as she got her bearing. “Just some weakness along the ridge.” _

“Captain, who’s Siv?”

The voice of TN-3465 pulled Phasma back to the present. Like a dream, her memory faded away. Phasma paused, wondering if it was worth it to chase the memory but she had to let it go. This was no time for distractions.

“Move faster, Pilot.”

 

Something was triggering her memories without the aid of the Force. She would have to figure it out later once she questioned Rivas. Currently, he was most likely being kept inside a rock pillar on the other side of a massive pit filled with red creatures. 

Phasma took one look inside the pit and assessed her options. The predators were beasts with no real strategy for defense; probably because here they were the top of the food chain. Phasma cocked her blaster and dove in.

They were simple fodder, nothing more. She kicked, punched and shot more than she expected before the creatures realized their odds and fled screaming. Phasma pulled herself out of the pit with TN-3465 still following.

“Stay here,” Phasma ordered. “Guard the area and let nothing through.” She approached the pillar and peeked inside the entrance. Inside the pillar was nothing but rotting corpses and puddles of water where the rain had seeped in from the hole at the top. Lt. Rivas lay amid numerous bodies. She felt outrage at the sight of the lifeless body. She had worked hard to get here, overcoming so many obstacles only to find him dead. 

She snuck in and knelt over him, reaching out with one hand. He suddenly sucked in a harsh breath and her relief could not have been greater.

“Lt. Rivas.” She had said his name in more of a demand than in concern. He lifted his head slowly and looked at her in disbelief.

“Captain Phasma?” he asked in slow shock. He stared up at her like seeing a ghost. She pulled him up by his arm and sat him in a more comfortable position. The glaze in his eyes finally dissipated when he realized what he was seeing was real. “I have never been so glad to see anyone, Captain. These people are savages. I feared I would never again see the First Order.”

“Do not pretend with me, Rivas,” she responded. “We both know what we know.” 

His expression dropped with the awareness that he was worse off than before. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he answered in a clear lie.

“You heard I was looking for you, so you fled. I followed you out here on this barren rock. I want information and you’re going to give it to me.” She leaned over him so that he could see his own reflection in her helmet. “Tell me everything you know about the BRI project.” Her tone was low and grave. She could see the terror forming in his features.

“I-…don’t… I’ve never heard of it.”

She pulled out a knife and sliced it clean across his thigh. He screamed out in horror and pain, gripping his hand over the wound that flowed freely with blood.

“The BRI project,” she reminded him. “You were apart of it.”

“I was only a lab technician!” he cried out. “It was just a job.”

“Tell me everything.”

“I don’t know anything!”

“Where was the lab? Who ran it?”

He sat crying over his wound, glaring at it with a mournful regret. She fisted his hair and made him look up into her visor.

“The lab, Rivas!”

“It was on Raxus! Please don’t hurt me!”

“Where on Raxus?”

“In a secret location. I don’t know the exact coordinates. After the lab was shut down, it became a military base.”

“You were there for the shut down?”

“Yes,” he whimpered. “I had been there less than a year when the First Order and the New Republic found out about the experiments being conducted there. It was my first job out of school. I was only there to analyze the blood samples from the test subjects.”

“The children, you mean.”

A tear slipped down his cheek. “Yes, the children.”

“Keep talking.”

“I didn’t know there would be children there. When I got the job, I thought it was a simple lab position. It wasn’t until later I found out what was going on.”

“Less about you. More about the lab.”

“There were so many children,” he replied in a far off gaze. “Hundreds, maybe thousands had come through there in the time I worked at the lab. So many bodies burned…”

“How did they die? What kind of experiments were they performing?”

“Most children died of the effects of the serum.”

“The serum. Tell me more about it.”

“The super soldier serum. It was designed to enhance the strength and physical capabilities of an individual, but there was no telling which children would take to it. Some would do well and then suddenly something would go wrong after the fifth or sixth injection. Records indicate a little less than fifty were left alive by the time of the shut down.”

“What were the effects?”

“Just about anything you can imagine. Neural psychosis, sepsis, organ failure, blood poisoning, dehydration…you name it, someone probably died of it.” He gained the thousand yard stare again. “You could never get attached to them. They died all the time. If I didn’t think of them as experiments, I would have gone mad.”

“Who ran the lab?”

“There were several directors. Brendol Hux was in charge of administration and resources; the children. Jae Garr was head of the financial department, so she was the one finding the money to run the lab. It was Dr. Barrik’s brain child though. He was the one that researched and administered every aspect of the science.”

“Where is Jae Garr and Dr. Barrik now?”

“Garr died in a mysterious shuttle crash years ago. The First Order declared it an accidental malfunction but there were rumors that she was stopped from divulging a secret that could destroy the government. I don’t know where Barrik is. No one does.”

“Is he alive?”

“I don’t know. Possibly.”

“Most of the participants in the BRI project are dead. Why are you still alive?”

“Brendol Hux was impressed by my work ethic. He offered me an officer’s position in the First Order and I took it. He told me that when the time came I would be assigned a post with one of the BRI’s as a sort of spy for him.”

“So it’s no coincidence that you and I were both assigned the  _ Finalizer _ .”

“When you were assigned to be Armitage Hux’s Captain, Brendol Hux made sure to keep me near you in case your conditioning began to falter.”

“You’re the one that told Brendol to have me reconditioned,” she declared with a narrowed eye directed at him. He flinched at her glare but nodded anyway.

“It was my duty,” he professed. “I was under orders. Unleashed, you could become extremely dangerous to the First Order, but Armitage Hux was letting you do all kinds of things against your conditioning. You shouldn’t have been expressing opinions or attending strategy meetings. You were even beginning to show some emotion. You and that bastard Hux seemed to actually respect one ano-…”

Phasma slapped him hard across the face. Rivas whipped his palm up to his cheek.

“Augh!” he cried out. “Kriff, that hurts!”

“What does Armitage know about the BRI project?”

“He doesn’t know a damned thing because his father was well aware he was too soft to keep his mouth shut.”

Relief flooded through her. Still, so far the hunt for him had not paid off. “You need to give me more information.”

“I’m telling you all I can!” he exclaimed in rising panic. “I wasn’t really privy to the details since I was only a technician.”

“Anything will do. Who else from the project is alive, that you know of? Where can I find records of it?”

“The only place I think you might find intel about this is on the First Order security complex.”

“You’re talking about Bestine base.”

“Yes. Where all the records are maintained.”

“Why would the First Order retain those records?”

“The First Order wouldn’t, but Brendol Hux would. He was obsessed with the project, second only to Dr. Barrik. He insisted it was the future of military warfare. Eventually he figured the super soldiers could be bred to make more without the effort of going through the serum, therefore making it cheaper to build an army.”

“Tell me everything Brendol ever told you about the other soldiers.”

“Nothing that would help you. He was always going on and on about five of the BRI-…er, of you all.”

“Like what?”

“Well, he chose Cardinal as his personal bodyguard, but you were always his favorite. You were naturally clever and fiery. He said you had the most potential but he took Cardinal because he was the most receptive to conditioning. There was always the risk you would turn on everyone.” Rivas gave her a once over. “I guess he wasn’t wrong.”

“What about the other…favorites.”

“BRI-5 died in the crash with Garr. It was rumored he had overcome his conditioning because she had been too lenient with him. BRI-4 is still a sergeant in an outpost on the outer rim. You might have heard of him. Sergeant Rex. He was given a name after the BRI codes were being retired.”

Phasma  _ had _ heard of him. He was an exceptional warrior fighting in the most tumultuous regions of space. A vid-drone followed him around much like one followed her during the battles they faced because of their exceptional skills. They were both toted as First Order symbols of military might.

“What about BRI-2?”

“Just as Cardinal was given to Brendol Hux, BRI-2 was given to Dr. Barrik. Presumably he’s still with him, but no one knows where that is.”

Phasma paused for a moment, wondering if she had exhausted her questioning. One kept nagging in her mind.

“Do you remember me when I was at the lab?”

To her surprise, a chuckle escaped Rivas. “No one could ever forget you. You were the tallest and the only blonde. You were also the hardest to condition. There was a day when the lab was under red alert because you had escaped from your room and couldn’t be found.”

“What about my brother. Do you remember him?” she asked.

Rivas stared at her in astonishment. She had to give him a little shake to get him to respond. “He had apparently already died before I got there. How did you know you had a brother?”

“I see him in my memories. Brendol confirmed he was my brother just before I killed him.”

“Wait, what?” Rivas flinched back. “ _ You _ killed Brendol Hux? I thought it was Cardinal.”

“He was easily framed.”

“You’re seeing visions?”

“Memories. Of the lab. Of my brother. Do you know his name?”

“I have no idea what his name was. I don’t think I was ever told. Brendol simply said how disappointing it was that he died because, judging by your development, he would have probably been just as phenomenal a soldier.”

“What else did he say about him?”

“Nothing really. Just that you both were similar in appearance and personality.”

“I see someone else in my memories. A man. He’s mostly non-descript. Pale skin. Brown hair. Average height. Somewhat thin. Has a deep scar on his hand.”

From the mention of the last characteristic, Rivas’ eyes went wide. “That’s Dr. Barrik! He has a scar on his hand from a puncture wound. Apparently a metal bar was shoved clean through his hand though he didn’t like to talk about it.”

“What else can you tell me about Barrik?”

“He was a bit of an asshole. He didn’t care about anything or anyone but his research. Barrik had a self-inflated ego that couldn’t be deflated no matter how poorly his experiments went. For all intents and purposes, the BRI project was a disaster but he insisted it would one day garner him the praise he thought he was warranted, but there was no way that was ever going to happen. Too much money went into it and not enough was produced. So many people died, even after the Raxus lab was dismantled. No one wanted to take credit for the atrocities that went on there and anyone who knew about it died under mysterious circumstances to save face. Even some of the leaders of the New Republic led cover-ups that resulted in a few deaths.”

“What was Barrik’s motivation? Did he want to get rich? Did he want to be renowned? Go down in history as a leading scientist?” Phasma inquired. Rivas, pale from blood loss, shook his head.

“I’m sure there was some of that, but Barrik wanted the impossible. He proclaimed himself a god, playing with the genetic construction of humans, making children into supposed supermen…he couldn’t make himself into one though. That’s what he wanted. To be a superman; a god. To be you, Captain. He wanted to be you. He wanted everyone to be just like you.”

“It would be a wasted world if there were only people like me,” she responded. “This is the work of a mad man. But at least I have a name now.”

“You’re going to kill him, aren’t you?” Rivas’ voice was soft and sounded drowsy. He was shivering from the loss of blood.

“Yes,” Phasma replied. “I’m going to find him. And I’m going to kill him.”

“Good.” Rivas smiled. “Men like him don’t deserve life.” He looked down at himself and made a half shrug. “I guess you think the same of me.”

“You never treated me like a person. You only saw me as an experiment. You extended that thought to my troopers who are by all rights just as human as you are. No, I don’t think you deserve to live.”

Rivas made a faint nod and she could see he was thinking on all the regrets he had made in his life. There appeared to be a lot of them.

“I’m sorry I didn’t know your brother’s name.” He surprised her by his attempt to respect her humanity. She didn’t think he was trying to manipulate his way out of death, he was too far gone to save, and the sincerity in his voice seemed like he was simply reconciling for his past discourtesies. She said nothing, but was also just as sorry he didn’t know.

With a few wheezes, Rivas used the last of his energy to make another atonement. “I just remembered something,” he said, barely above a whisper. “You came from the smallest group collected from any planet in the galaxy. You came from survivors.”

“Survivors of what?”

Rivas could barely shake his head. “Don’t know. Brendol called you... Wanted to name you…survivor.”

She stared at him for a moment. Slowly, she knelt over him and put the knife to his throat. He gave a small smile up at her.

“Good luck, Captain.”

The blade sliced through his neck as easily as if he had been made of paper. The dead weight slumped to the wet ground with a muted thud against the other corpses. His body was indistinguishable with the rest of them.


	8. Chapter 8

Phasma left Sol Rivas’ body behind in the natural cavern on the primitive world of Luprora.  She was still processing all that he had told her about the BRI project when she saw TN-3465 ahead, much closer than anticipated.  The pilot could have listened in on the interrogation before scrambling back to her present position.

TN-3465 glanced at Phasma upon hearing her approach but otherwise maintained her guard.  

“At ease, TN-3465.  The mission is complete.”

“Did you locate Lt. Gen. Rivas, sir?” TN-3465 asked.

“I did.  I notified him that his treason had been uncovered, and I executed sentence,” Phasma said.  She monitored TN-3465’s stance for any hints that she knew differently.

“Did you conclude that he was responsible for the destruction of Starkiller base?” TN-3465 asked, sounding legitimately shocked.

“Yes.  I uncovered evidence that he was in contact with the rebels and lowered the shields to further their plot.  That is why I was so urgently pursuing him.”

“I see,” TN-3465 said.  She sounded skeptical. 

“You have something to say, Pilot?”

“Permission to speak freely?”

“Granted.”

“The entire base ended up being destroyed… perhaps there was something you could have done before leaving to stop that?  Surely the lives of all those on base outweigh bringing one traitor to justice. Sir.”

A proud grin spread across Phasma’s face; it surprised her.  She supposed she’d now have to redact this trooper since she suspected too much.  Phasma felt vindicated at the signs of intelligence in the young soldier, however.  TN-3465 was not meekly going along with what she was told, but instead using her mind to closely evaluate the information fed to her. Stormtroopers, especially those she’d personally trained, were proving time and again that they were nothing like mere disposable droids or clones.

“Your objection is noted, Pilot,” Phasma replied.

“I apologize, Captain.  I can tell you’re upset about the destruction.  My entire squadron; all my comrades are probably gone.  I’m sure it’s even worse for you. I shouldn’t have implied any negligence.  You obviously feel the loss deeply.”

Phasma stopped in her tracks.  She was affected, of course, she just thought she’d hidden it better.  She probed her ammo box for more vitamins – only one dose left. That might be enough to allow her to reach civilized space, as well as to smooth out the difficulty of what she must do to TN-3465.

“I believe the Lupr’or village is this way, sir,” TN-3465 said, misinterpreting Phasma’s shock for loss of orientation. 

“We do not need to return to the village.”

“They helped us.  I thought-”

“How do you think we should help them in return?  Should we leave them some credit chips or perhaps some technology that this environment would soon render useless?  They are dying out. We can not stop that.”

“Perhaps not, but we could make their lives more comfortable to show our gratitude.”

“Ah, so you’d like to spend a day cutting firewood for them or hunting meat.  Do you know what would happen then?”

“No, sir.”

“Why, they’d throw us a feast of thanks, naturally, using up all that they gained.  Then you’d feel obliged to do it again, and before you know it, a week has passed and you’ve become invested in solving their problems.  Which again I reiterate, can not be done with the resources on this planet.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You disagree.”  Phasma could hear it in her tone of voice.

“We will pass right by the village.  Do we not acknowledge them at all?”

“Very well.”  Phasma stalked ahead until she saw a creature that looked vaguely edible.  She brought the six-legged, patchy scaled thing down with a clean shot between the eyes.  Settling it in onto her back, she estimated it to be about 50 pounds of meat when properly butchered.

When they arrived at the outskirts of the village, she draped the dead beast over TN-3465’s shoulders.  “Go take this to the elders, then. See if they don’t imply a dozen more tasks that they have prayed their gods would send someone to accomplish for them.  By the end of the day, you’ll know I was right.”

“Thank you for the lesson, sir,” TN-3465 said and entered the clearing.

Phasma skirted around the village to the area where TN-3465 had landed their TIE fighter.  She engaged the start-up sequence as quickly as possible and took off with no further consideration for the former stormtrooper.  She looped through the air a few times re-familiarizing herself with the controls. While she had hoped for a quiet escape, she decided it was too much of a risk.  She armed the TIE’s weapons systems and locked on to her target.

Sol Rivas’s ship exploded in a pyre of flame and shrapnel.  She couldn’t risk leaving TN-3465 any method of egress from the planet, no matter how unlikely.  Perhaps the young woman would find a way to help the people of Luprora. She knew something about First Order civil engineering, after all, and had equipment to monitor for the worst of the environmental toxins and radiation.  If she managed to survive, she would make her Captain very proud.

 

Phasma activated the TIE fighter’s scanners once she left Luprora’s gravity well.  Even if _(no ‘if’ about it_ , Phasma chided, not allowing herself the luxury of denial) the Resistance had managed to destroy Starkiller Base, surely they couldn’t have harmed more of the First Order fleet.  The Resistance simply was not powerful enough and had little external support. Most of the universe recognized the superior qualities of the First Order and rightly shunned the rebel scum.

She let out a breath of relief when signals from nearby star destroyers lit up her console.  TIE fighters were wonderful short range combat ships, but lacked extensive fuel reserves or life support facilities.  Slowly suffocating while encased in a ship abandoned in the void of space had been a subconscious concern.

The TIE fighter limped toward the nearest star destroyer.  Phasma was pleased to find it was the  _ Finalizer,  _ her previous ship before she was reassigned to Starkiller.  She requested clearance, feeling an unfamiliar anxiety. Technically, this TIE fighter was not authorized for landing, and she was not its registered pilot.  Considering that high alert status would still be in effect after the destruction of Starkiller, they might be tempted to ignore any irregularities. They could “accidentally” destroy her TIE fighter and thus save themselves any risk or administrative reports.  She told herself that these worries were meaningless. If survivors couldn’t depend on assistance from the nearest First Order vessel under these circumstances, then the whole system would collapse into a shortsighted, back-biting mess. 

Phasma’s hand went automatically to her ammo pouch, but it was empty of vitamins.  She misliked the spike in her anxiety at this discovery. She was clearly still dependent on the emotional blankness they provided.   _ It is no matter.  As soon as I establish my credentials aboard ship, I can request my usual supplements. _

“TIE 450, you are cleared for docking bay 10.  After landing, please proceed to the command center for mission debrief.”

“Acknowledged.”  

Phasma landed the TIE, noticing a bit of rustiness in her technique.  Flying had never been her forte, and she made a note to shore up the deficiency.  One could not always depend on finding an underling in the right place at the right time.

As she registered her presence in central command, Phasma noticed several heads turning to follow her stride toward the administration desk.  She drew herself up straight and tall to represent the indestructibility of the First Order. 

“Wonderful to see you safe, Captain,” the ensign said, hero worship in his eyes.  “General Hux is eagerly awaiting your report. He’s in his conference room.”

“General Hux?” Phasma said, unable to contain a broad smile at the news.  Even with her helmet on, the ensign could probably hear the elation in her voice.

“Yes, Captain.  He arrived with the first of the shuttles that successfully evacuated Starkiller.  I wasn’t surprised not to see you with him. Everyone knew you would fight to the end.  I’m so relieved to see that you survived. The First Order needs you.”

“Thank you, ensign.  At ease,” Phasma said, guilty and embarrassed.  At the time, she’d only been doing what she felt necessary in lowering the base’s shields.  In no way did she think the Resistance was capable of causing such complete destruction. But making excuses did no one any good and certainly would not raise the dead.  

“Can I get you anything before you meet with General Hux, Captain?” the ensign asked.  

She hesitated only for a moment.  “Yes, ensign. I haven’t eaten since the tragedy.  Please retrieve for me a meal’s worth of protein paste and my vitamin allotment.  Be sure the vitamins are the ones designed to fit my metabolic needs. Others would be insufficient.”

“At once, Captain.”

Too many emotions were swirling around Phasma’s head.  She feared she’d botch the delicate presentation she needed to make to Hux if she allowed them to distract her.  As she ate, she tried to focus on her pleasure that her ally had survived and ignore the pain from the deaths of thousands of her personally trained troops.  Soon, the medicine smoothed out the highs and lows of her affections.

 

Hux couldn’t maintain a neutral command posture as Phasma entered the conference room.  He strode over to her and shook her hand, then brought her in for a brief one-armed hug with a hearty back pat.  

“Captain Phasma!  You are truly the most extraordinary soldier of your generation.  I had troopers looking everywhere for you, right up until the end.  How did you escape?”

“Sir.  I discovered the traitor in the very act of lowering the shields, though I did not realize his success at the time.  He fled, and I pursued him to the hangar bay. There he leapt into a waiting TIE fighter, and I had no choice but to commandeer one for my own use, along with pilot TN-3465.  We successfully apprehended him on a deserted planet, and he confessed. Unfortunately, TN-3465 was fatally wounded in the process. I would like to enter a posthumous commendation in her file for her heroism.  I executed sentence on the traitor and returned to find the utter destruction his treachery had caused.”

“Outstanding, Phasma!  Who was the traitor?”

“It was Lt. Gen. Sol Rivas, sir.  I believe his Resistance confederates included an older man, a Wookiee, and a… another human male of unremarkable characteristics.”  She couldn’t bring herself to admit that one of her own specially trained FN troopers had been part of Starkiller’s downfall.

“Terrible.  But I can’t say I’m shocked.  He was always an insubordinate shit.  He hadn’t earned a promotion in ages. I suppose he grew bitter.  No one’s fault but his own if he can’t play the game. Excellent work, Phasma.  I’ll see you receive a special award for this.”

“I deserve no award for doing my duty, sir.  I would expect the same of any other soldier in my position.”

“Your high standards… Do you see why you’re so inspiring to our forces all across the galaxy?  It’s not just your physique or your tactical mastery. You expect perfection from yourself, so no one can resist trying to rise to your level.  I was truly afraid we’d lost you for a while there. It would have been a terrible blow to the First Order’s morale. With all the chaos and destruction, you could have disappeared without a trace.”

“Thank you, sir, but I was never in any real danger.  I only regret that the rest of the base… so many of our soldiers.  That I couldn’t stop it.”

“I shouldn’t say it, Phasma, but I’d take you over all of them.  I need you at my right hand. And, I consider you a friend.”

Memories of all the times Hux had spoken up for her and kept her best interests at heart spun through Phasma’s mind.  There had been nothing to gain in confronting his father about her, and yet he’d done so. He’d redesigned her armor so she’d be more comfortable.  He unfailingly treated her as a full person, even encouraging her leadership development. She felt a warmth that she could usually only summon when thinking of the image of her brother on the beach.

“The feeling is mutual, General.  Don’t tell anyone, but I smiled when I heard you were alive.”

“Phasma!  Warn a fellow before you give him such a huge shock.  Have you eaten?”

“Yes, sir.  Are my old quarters available?”

“They are.  Dismissed, Captain.  Go rest. We’ll catch up more over breakfast.”

 

Phasma generally fell to sleep almost as simply as turning off a switch.  Even the greenest of her cadet stormtroopers soon learned that any time spent gossiping or mewling about missing classmates during dark cycles was a missed opportunity for recuperative sleep.  This evening, however, Hux’s words seemed to echo in her mind as if a faulty recorder was stuck in a loop.  _ You could have disappeared without a trace.   _ At last, Phasma slept…

She took in the empty sleeping room.  Her dorm-mate should have returned by now, but it was 600 hours, time for breakfast, and no Siv.  She dressed in her crisp black uniform. The logo for the institute – two serpents fighting, entwined around each other – was over her heart, and her program rank insignia was displayed on her collar.  There was a number stitched onto the back, but they didn’t need the numbers anymore. There were only two of them left. The others had vanished, never to return.

She sat alone in the commissary, methodically eating her breakfast.  The Watcher walked over to stand in front of her. This was odd. The Watcher mainly watched from afar.  He was probably a scientist like the others, but he didn’t like to take part in the training himself. It had something to do with the scar on his hand, something that happened before she began the treatments, but she couldn’t remember.  Once the treatments started, keeping reality separate from hallucinations had became difficult for a while.

She finished her meal, and the Watcher kept on staring.  Either she would be considered impertinent for speaking without being spoken to or for leaving without addressing him.  If he had a mind to punish her, finding an excuse was never difficult. She stood at attention and lifted her chin to look him in the eye.  She’d grown rapidly due to the treatments; it was not a sharp angle at all anymore.

“Where is Siv?” she asked.

He seemed disappointed by her question.  “The treatments didn’t take. She washed out.  The third time was not a charm for her, apparently.”  The side of his mouth curled up at his little joke.

She nodded curtly.  She knew ‘washout’ was code for fatal reaction, just like ‘casualty’ meant disabled beyond usefulness (and thus euthanized), and ‘disordered’ meant driven insane (and also thus euthanized).  There had been so many. 

“You’re the last of the Parnassi, my little tardigrade,” he said, stepping closer to put a hand on her shoulder.  She was well-disciplined enough not the flinch from the unfamiliar contact, though she did not enjoy it.

“Sir?” In a fairly short sentence, he’d used two words she didn’t know.  She didn’t like missing information. Her performance in simulations always suffered when they went in with incomplete intelligence about the enemy.

“Tardigrades are nature’s most indestructible animals. You can bake them, freeze them, crush them, expose them to vacuum, starve them; doesn’t matter.  They find a way to keep going.” His expression implied that he enjoyed the challenge of trying to kill them a great deal. “You’re quite a bit larger, but proving just as talented at survival.”

His hand came down to pat her shoulder again, and Phasma woke before the contact.  She scrambled to reassemble the dream, but it was fading rapidly. There had been an important word mentioned, and she desperately struggled to find it.  Tardigrade?


	9. Chapter 9

During all the events of imploding starbases, hunting down Sol Rivas, and finding her way back to the First Order, it wasn’t until now that Phasma was able to search through the datakey. She dug it out of her ammo box and attached it to her datapad.

 

_BRI Project_

_Estimated conception date: 15 ABY_

_Project Director: Brendol Hux - Deceased_

_Lab Director: Dr. Pynn Barrik_

_Resource Director: Jae Garr - Deceased_

_Assistant Director: Kore Caidon - Deceased_

_Assistant Director: Lea Terron - Deceased_

_Assistant Director: Jender Stiss - Deceased_

_Senior Genetics Scientist - Pan G’reela - Deceased…_

 

The list was not very extensive, noting only about fifty more names, most of which were deceased. Some of the names had dates listing when they died or how it occurred. She was not surprised to find the date 32 ABY next to Brendol’s name though the reason for his death was simply registered as ‘possible murder’.

There were only about eight people from the project that showed up in green. Dr. Barrik was one as well as Sol Rivas. There was another name that Phasma actually knew. A lieutenant Byre Cassor. Though the Lieutenant was listed as active, Phasma knew for a fact she had died three years ago in a mysterious ion engine explosion. It coincided with one of Brendol Hux’s visits to the Lieutenant’s base at the time. It seemed Brendol had been methodically wiping out any evidence of the project before he died, possibly using Captain Cardinal to aid in his cover up. She figured the only reason the other seven were still alive was because she had killed Brendol before he could manufacture their deaths. She had known he had been covering up anything having to do with the BRI project, but she wasn’t quite sure why. The fact that children were being tortured and killed was certainly the main reason, but Brendol was already in a lofty enough position that the exposure probably would not have caused any lost respect or demotions. It was another question for her to investigate.

There was not much on the actual soldiers themselves. Apparently the information on them had been heavily concealed. It mentioned a possible twenty soldiers made in the project though there was no telling who it could have been. Whoever had been collecting the information could not find anything about the specifications of those experimented on, namely age. It was known they were children but that could have been anywhere between newborn to seventeen years old. There were millions of stormtroopers between those ages in 15 ABY. It was no wonder she, or the other BRI’s, were never discovered. They were names lost in a sea of data.

There was nothing else to help her with her investigation. It was lucky she had pursued Rivas when she did, otherwise he would have slipped away and she would not know the location of the lab nor the records kept at Bestine Base.

Now she had a different problem. She knew there was a lab on Raxus but not where it was located on the surface. Undoubtedly, the lab information could be found within the files on Bestine base, but even if she were an officer, she would not have access without a lofty clearance. She had to find a way to steal them and that meant physically going to the base. As a commander of an army on the frontlines, there was no possible reason for her to go to a security complex away from the war. It would be highly suspicious.

For years she had been hitting road blocks, gaining only a mere step before hitting the next one. She pounded her fist on the desk in frustration.

 

_You could have disappeared without a trace…_

 

Fighting against the conditioning of the First Order, it finally dawned in her mind a thought so novel as to be dangerous.

She could have disappeared without a trace. She _should_  have disappeared without a trace when she had the chance. Without her duties as a soldier, she would be free to search the nature of her past. She had bargained with the Starkiller base shields, hunted men on ships and primitive planets, killed at least three…and for what? It was for this information. She clearly put more importance into finding out about her past than in her stature in the First Order.

But now that she was even considering leaving the First Order, how exactly could she do that? And was she ready for it? They would never let her simply leave. A stormtrooper did not retire. They died in battle and that was all there was to it. She would have to find a way to fake her death, though that was easier said than done. She would have to physically go missing, armor and all, in a way where General Hux would not send a squad to her rescue.

Armitage. How could she betray him? He was the only ally she ever had. It was possible she considered him her friend. She wasn’t sure. She’d never had a friend to compare her feelings with, nor really feelings strong enough to understand.

The dream. What was it? Who was Siv? What had he called her? A tardigrade? No, a Parnassi. He had called her a Parnassi; Dr. Barrik, the Watcher and the man responsible for everything. Without knowing why, she blamed him for the death of her brother, for the loss of her childhood. He was alive and she needed to find him or all these memories would go unanswered and that seemed worse than having them at all.

A knock at the door pulled her out of her thoughts. She looked at the monitor recording the outside of her room. A stormtrooper with a hovercart stood outside. She pulled her helmet on and opened the door.

“Sir,” the stormtrooper saluted as he directed the trolley into her room. There was a massive white crate sitting on it. As soon as the cart was inside, the stormtrooper left with another salute, disappearing back to the stockroom.

She opened the crate and smirked. This set of armor was even shinier than the last.

 

It was good to be back in pristine armor again. Her cape had been a tattered mess and this one was probably identical to her previous one but the contrast made it look sleeker. She walked through the halls of the star destroyer, feeling the pride she allowed for herself.

“Captain,” General Hux smiled as she came to stand by his side on the bridge. “I trust you found the armor to your liking?”

“More than expected, sir,” she replied. “What is the prognosis of the Resistance ships?”

“They have less than an hour’s reserve of fuel. Prepare a boarding party in the meantime. We’ll be taking General Organa alive.”

“Yes, sir.” Phasma would do her duty and bring the planetless princess into custody. Upon first sight of FN-2187, she would shoot to kill.

“By the way, I’ve arranged a gift for you,” Hux said, snapping his fingers at one of the young ensigns. The officer immediately ran towards them bearing a small box. Hux took it from him without so much as a thank you and opened it so that the contents could be revealed somewhat ceremoniously. There was a silver shaft about half a foot in diameter laying in the red velvet interior. In a rare moment of surprise, Phasma hesitatingly reached for it. It was heavier than she expected and upon it was etched an inscription:

 

_To Captain Phasma,_

_Commander and Ally._

_\- General Armitage Hux_

 

To anyone else, there was nothing remotely sentimental about the inscription, but it would have hardly been like Armitage to inscribe something sweet or sappy. As it was, this was well beyond the cordial means Armitage normally showed and she was quite aware of how embarrassed he was by his own actions. He had done it despite recognizing he would be uneasy with this kind of sincerity and that impacted upon her more than he could ever know. A swelling of happiness pulled mercilessly at her. It was uncomfortable.

Because neither of them were suited to tender words, Phasma thanked him in the best possible way.

“Your gift is more than acceptable.”

“I hope it serves you well.”

“As I’m sure it will.”

The quicksilver staff might as well have already struck her in the heart. The ache of joy to a person who was not used to it was almost as sharp as the pain of her impending betrayal.

 

 

As soon as she could, Phasma grabbed another allotment of vitamins and swallowed them down. It was impossible to give up her vitamins. Emotions were distractions at a minimum and she couldn’t understand how people functioned with the incessant pain in their chests. How could happiness cause so much agony?

Within moments the familiar dulling of the vitamins grayed out her heart. With a crick of her neck, she resumed her duties.

A droid signaled her comm.

“What is it, BB-9E?”

The droid bleeped his short binary which she immediately deciphered. __Intruders headed for the hyperspace tracker chamber. FN-2187.__  Upon hearing the name, Phasma felt the gray of her heart turn darker. The anger subdued by the vitamins was struggling to get out.

“Don’t apprehend him,” she ordered. “I’ll do it myself.”

 

She couldn’t help but gloat about his capture. FN-2187 pierced his hateful stare at her all the way into the hangar where his execution would be carried out. She had trained him, had given him the necessary skills for survival, and he had forced her into a trash chute. She wanted to ask about the old man but that was hardly reasonable.

“Well done, Phasma,” Hux congratulated her. His compliments caused her to beam in pride. It occurred to her that, like Captain Cardinal before her, the vitamin allotment was not enough. She could feel her emotions clawing to break free.

It was time to give the traitor his due. She looked at FN-2187 and his companion and wondered how they could have been so absurd as to dress up as officers when they probably could have evaded capture wearing stormtrooper uniforms. He probably thought she was just as absurd for diving into the trash chute after the datakey. She remained calm at the thought though her hand reflexively fisted in anger. He would pay the price for his treason and stupidity.

“Execution by blaster is too good for them,” she said, unable to hide the resentment in her tone. “Let’s make this hurt.” It felt good to say so. Never before did she have the actual desire to exact revenge. She had conspired, bargained and killed for information, but this was the turning point in her mind. Here was when she discovered the thrill of personal justice.

“On my command.” The stormtrooper executioners marched in with their laser axes, placing them just above the necks of the Resistance scum.

“Execute.”

 

The hard quaking of the ship was nothing compared to the deafening sound of metal ripping apart. The next thing Phasma knew, she and half the squad were on the floor amid fires and explosions.

“Get up!” Phasma ordered her troopers. They were shaken and dizzied by whatever had fired upon the ship (perhaps some new Resistance cannon that had managed a direct hit?), but quickly filed into a reasonable formation and began to march around the hangar.

Phasma was looking for General Hux. He had been leaving the hangar as she executed the traitor but she didn’t know if he had gotten out before the hit. She had no idea if he had been knocked around inside the ship or blasted out into the vacuum of space. There was an emotion welling inside her chest, agitating her enough where thoughts jumped frantically through her mind. She was in a panic.

“Find the General!” she shouted.

“Over there!” one stormtrooper pointed. She directed her attention and was flustered to find FN-2187 and his comrade still alive. She sighed heavily in frustration. She had to take care of the trash first. Meanwhile, Armitage could be bleeding out.

She unclipped her silver shaft from her belt. He will die by the tools of her ally. It was only just. She had one of these types of extendable silver staffs, but it had been lost on Starkiller and was most likely why Armitage had it replaced. She made a show of extending it, not realizing how smoothly it would retract out until she had expanded it to it’s full six feet. She stood passive like a statue but in her mind she was thinking how slick this new staff turned out to be.

FN-2187 was no match for her. She easily countered everything he threw at her and put him on the defense the entire moment they were in combat. She pushed him down the elevator shaft and noted how he fell on his back down in the chamber. It would take him a while to get back up.

A scream alerted her to the other Resistance member and she reflexively spun around, blaster aimed, firing just as the woman dodged behind a crate.

“Hey.”

Phasma turned just in time to note FN-2187 on the platform raising near her. He swung his riot baton at her as hard as he could. With lightening speed, Phasma deflected it and grabbed him by his shirt, pulling him down on to the ground before her and knocking his weapon away. He was supine and fearful, sensing the end of his life as she raised her quicksilver staff in the air a second before her strike.

_For Armitage_

_“Captain.”_

Phasma paused with her staff held ready in the air. It was Armitage’s voice coming through her comm. She had been fighting to avenge his death and was shocked to find that he was alive. She nearly dropped her staff in relief.

__“_ Captain!”_ he called louder. _“Abandon the ship. I’m in Ren’s shuttle. Get here as soon as you can.”_

She stared at FN-2187 as he didn’t dare move from his position. She was too fast for him to safely flee. He could only wait for her strike. He looked up at her with his spiteful stare but all she could see was proud defiance. He never had that in him as a stormtrooper. It would have brought him an execution, but he had been too riddled with vitamins to emote such passion anyway. There had been nothing to set him apart from any other stormtrooper. There had been nothing to indicate he would betray them. He was simply one of thousands of troopers she had trained in her years and yet he was the one who had fled.

She understood he had reasons, just like she did. She might not know what those reasons were but she could relate to the need to do something on a personal level. Not everything was about the First Order. He had left and he had found his own purpose. It might be time for her to do the same.

She slowly lowered her staff.

_“Phasma! Answer me!”_ Armitage’s voice came through in a panic. Phasma cut off her comm.

“I need you to get a message out to your contact,” she said to FN-2187. His brows shot up to his hairline.

“Maz?” he asked in uncertainty.

“Whoever it was who gave you the datakey,” Phasma confirmed. “Tell them to meet me at the Wolf’s lair.”

“The what?”

Phasma sighed and held her hand out for him to take. He hesitatingly accepted it and she hoisted him up with little effort.

“Repeat it. Wolf’s lair.”

“Wolf’s lair,” FN-2187 echoed. “I’ll tell Maz.”

“Good. Now, as your former commanding officer, I must request that you aid me in my task.”

“Hold on, you were about to execute me…”

“Silence. I have a duty that does not involve either the First Order nor the Resistance. You must understand that I am in desperate need of help as you once were not too long ago. Aid me in my task and I will not kill you.”

“How?”

“Tell everyone I died. I need to disappear so that no one tries to find me.”

“No, Captain,” he shook his head emphatically. “I don’t trust you.”

“Do you trust your contact?” she asked in frustration. “Do you trust this…Maz?”

He eyed her skeptically. “Yes.”

“Tell only her that I am still alive. To everyone else I must be dead. She will understand.”

“Even if I were to do that, no one would believe that you just simply died. A great soldier known to survive through the lowest odds wouldn’t be considered dead without evidence.”

Phasma looked down at the floor in thought. Slowly she raised her silverstaff to her sight and contemplated it’s value to her. It was the greatest gift ever given to her and would be difficult to part with it. She sighed sadly before raising it in a fighting stance.

“RT squad to main hangar,” she said into her comm. FN-2187 shot her a look of shock before quickly picking up his riot baton and readying for combat. “Kill FN-2187.” As soon as she ended her call, FN-2187 struck with his weapon. This time she used her superior speed and skill to give the illusion that she was overwhelmed by his attacks.

Parts of the ship were still breaking up and the RT squad came running, however they were unable to get past the broken debris and fiery caverns in the floor. They aimed their blasters at FN-2187 but Phasma kept her body between him and the squad, making it impossible for them to shoot.

FN-2187 didn’t pull his punches. She was glad because she certainly didn’t need him to go easy on her, there was no way for him to accidentally hurt her, but she wondered if he was aware this was simply a set up to fake her death with viable witnesses around.

“Tell your contact not to make me wait long,” she grunted as they vied for attacking position.

“If you hurt Maz, I’ll hunt you down and kill you,” FN-2187 gritted back. It was laughable. So was the hard slice through the air with his riot baton. Had he stopped practicing his melee techniques? Regardless, she allowed him to strike her in the shoulder, which barely felt like a shove, and she stumbled over to the part of the floor that had split and was currently spewing up ash and flames. Inches from the drop, Phasma easily knocked his riot baton out of his hands. He stared up at her in confusion and she rolled her eyes and made a slow strike. Instinct told him to stop the strike by gripping his hands firmly around her silver staff, making it look like he had countered using his strength. She might as well have stopped the strike herself, she was so much stronger.

“Tell your comrade to fire on the squad,” she told him while they continued to struggle over the staff. His eyes darted over to his friend, who stayed hidden behind the crate, then back up at Phasma. “Rose!” he shouted out. “Blast the troopers!” At least he still trusted her ability to strategize. Rose seemed hesitant but screamed out a weak war cry and then began to fire on the squad. They all ducked and returned fire, but were unable to hit her behind the crate. With the troopers distracted, Phasma shoved the staff into FN-2187’s hands and directed the blade at herself. She let it pierce into her arm, allowing enough blood to cover the quicksilver end before deciding it was enough to look like he fully punctured into her.

“Give the staff to your general,” she said quickly, still making it look as though they were struggling. “Don’t fail me.”

“I’m telling everyone you died dishonorably.”

“Just do as I say and I will not hunt you down and dismember you in retribution.”

With a huff of anger, FN-2187 put both palms on her chest plate and pushed as hard as he could. She fell into a backwards dive, making her body look limp and dead. She was surprised to hear the screams of her troopers in utmost shock and loss.

As soon as she dropped through the ash, she raised her arm and shot off the grapple hook attached to the wrist plate. It caught a girder and she swung through the air, arching towards the far wall. She managed to land on the hangar floor below. It was almost completely destroyed but there were still a few ships untouched by the flames.

Phasma entered a stealth TIE and launched it out of the bay. Seeing the destruction to the Supremacy was a shock unto itself. The Resistance either had some unknown weapon or some incredible luck. She decided it was the latter.

_“Phasma…”_ She clicked on her comm only to find Armitage was still calling for her, though he seemed distraught and lost. Her jaw clenched in response to his voice. She had never cried in her life as far as she knew. She had never come closer to it than now.


	10. Chapter 10

Phasma arrived at the relay station in the Sulima system where she had first encountered the lone Resistance fighter. It had only been a week ago, but it felt like months. She powered up the relay station to inspect for incoming ships. Within a few hours, a small ship made a blip on her radar.

She prepared for trouble, not knowing if FN-2187 had made good on his word. It seemed unlikely considering the timing. She hadn’t been expecting company so soon. It might be whatever the Resistance had for a hit squad. She armed herself accordingly.

All thoughts that it was someone come to kill her went right out the window when the ship docked loudly along the station relay’s hull and two people could be heard talking as they entered the station. The loudness sounded deliberate, probably in an attempt not to startle her.

“Captain Phasma!” a strong but old voice called out just around the corner. “We are unarmed! We are coming in!”

“Then come in,” Phasma stated, keeping her blaster raised. A head peeked around the corner, and Phasma recognized the Resistance fighter she had encountered last week, though she was wearing a green hat that hid most of her hair. She was followed by a much smaller person, perhaps four feet in height, with orange skin and outrageous looking goggles. They both had their hands held in the air.

An awkward silence spread among the three as they assessed one another. There wasn’t much for Phasma to consider.  They both looked like people she could easily take out, especially since she was the one holding the gun and wearing the specialized armor. However, she could see the Resistance fighter and the little humanoid scan every inch of her in open wonder.

“New armor?” the little one finally broke the quiet. Phasma cocked her head curiously, unsure how the little woman managed to guess. Sensing the question, the little one hobbled over looking completely unafraid of the blaster and answered her unasked question. 

“Looks shinier.” Phasma stood still as she came up close to her arm, adjusted her goggles and inspected the chrome of the armor. This woman was so tiny she barely came up past Phasma’s hip. At first impression, Phasma felt she could kill her with a sharp glance. She stared at her wondering if this was the broker. Such a dangerous career for so small a person.

“Definitely new though there are scorch marks all over it,” the woman tsked.

“Who are you?” Phasma demanded.

The woman chuckled as though she didn’t have a blaster pointed in her face. “Ah, right, let me introduce myself. I’m Maz Kanata.” She then indicated to her companion. “This, as you seem to already know, is Sami Wolffe.”

Phasma directed her attention to Sami. The Resistance fighter wasn’t quite as jovial as Maz. She scrutinized Phasma with narrowed eyes and was on her guard, ready to make a run for it should Phasma try anything. Phasma gave her a solemn nod in an effort to deflect her distrust. Sami’s frown grew colder.

“Well?” Maz brought Phasma’s attention down to her. “We got your message. Did you want to make a trade? The Resistance is always looking for information on the First Order.”

“I need a ship,” Phasma stated. “One that is unmarked, easily maneuverable, and has a jammer powerful enough to go undetected through First Order radar. You can keep the stealth TIE.”

Maz and Sami shared a glance. “We might be able to get you something like that,” Maz replied. “In fact, we happened to be on our way to just the place when we got your message. However, you’re asking for a big order. It won’t come easy, and I doubt the TIE will cover the cost.”

Phasma swallowed her guilt down before replying. “I have intel.”

Maz stared solidly up at Phasma. The Captain called upon her First Order expertise to maintain a respectful posture while looking down to meet the eyes of Maz Kanata. She had frequently taken orders from superior officers of slighter stature than herself, but the difference had never been so stark.

“So. Stormtrooper commander. Propaganda tool. BRI test subject. First Order inner circle. And now a rebel. Quite a lot for less than thirty years.”

“I’m not a rebel, I just want the truth. The First Order molded me for years to be their ultimate weapon, but their methods were unscrupulous. There are nasty memories they tried to suppress that have started bubbling up in my mind. I have to know what else is in there, what else they did to me… and to the others.”  

“It took knowledge of your own suffering to dim the glow of the First Order?” Maz asked.  She sounded critical, but perhaps she just had high standards. Phasma could understand that.

“With the First Order, I used to find their reasoning natural and easy to follow.  Yes, they sometimes used brutal methods, but I believed it was for the greater good.  A stable, orderly universe where citizens could be productive and reach their optimum potential without fear of crime.  As I rose through the ranks, I saw time and again that they did not follow their own rules. Incompetents were awarded command due to political factors or nepotism.  Entire civilian populations were considered expendable in service of making a point. Everything I’d ever admired began to acquire a sinister cast.”

Maz’s impressed blink was magnified by her enormous goggles.  The stormtrooper hadn’t gone through her life with her brain in neutral after all.  “You began your own research of the BRI program. Not as clumsily as one might have suspected, either.  I wonder, though – it made you what you are today. Why throw it all away now?”

“Before I killed him, Brendol Hux told me that thousands of children died to make the 43 successful BRIs.  One of them was my brother. I want to confront the man who did this to us, and make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“And?” Maz inquired, unsatisfied.

“And I want to free anyone who is currently being experimented on.”

“And?”

“And I want revenge,” Phasma finally admitted.  “I want Dr. Barrik to suffer, and I want him to face the fact that he tortured thousands of children.  If I could force him to beg forgiveness of us one by one, that would be ideal, but I will probably have to content myself with his execution.”  

Maz nodded.  She could work nearly anyone so long as they were honest and clear-headed about their motivations.  Self delusion twisted knots in the flows of the force and made rendering aid much more difficult.

“Well then,” Maz said as she clapped once and turned back the way she came with her head held high, “come along. Let’s get you a ship.”

 

Phasma followed Maz and Sami to their transport docked next to the TIE on the relay station.

“We’ll leave the TIE here and use it as a bartering tool,” Maz said as she indicated for Phasma to come with them on their ship. “No one uses the station anymore so it won’t be found.”

“Where are we going?” Phasma asked as she entered the transport. She certainly didn’t want to be rude, but this ship was nothing more than an old piece of junk. It was also made for people of normal size so she had to duck the entryway to get in.

“There’s a trading outpost on Eriadu. I believe we can find a few Resistance members or others with the type of ship you need there. The TIE will make a good trade.” Maz sat down at the table while Sami went to the controls. The cockpit was separated only by a small divider. Phasma could see Sami from where she stood in the middle of the ship.

Looking around, it was barely large enough for the two of them, much less the three. There were two cots, neither one of them large enough to fit Phasma and a refresher that Phasma doubt worked. The galley area was stocked with fruits, dried meats, and bottles of water but didn’t really contain anything else. It was so small, Phasma, still in full armor and cape, wondered if she might physically take up a fifth of the space inside.

“Don’t worry about this mess,” Maz pointed around. “The outpost isn't far so you won’t be here long. Finn tells me you were on the recently destroyed _ Supremacy _ . Feel free to catch up on your rest or hydration while you’re here.”

“Finn?” Phasma asked. It was another name she didn’t know. The Resistance seemed to be awful at keeping secrets. No one was supposed to know she had faked her death.

“That’s what we call your former stormtrooper. FN something or other. He shortened it to Finn.”

“Ah.” The knowledge that FN-2187 had a name surprised her enough that her voice came out curt. She had the ability to relate to such a notion. She had named herself, after all.

There was an awkward moment while Sami sailed the transport away from the station then jumped it through hyperspace. As the blue hues of light travel streaked by, Sami put the ship into auto-control and came back into the center. All the while, Maz stared up at Phasma as she ate some crusty looking bread.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” Maz began, “but you’re not going to blend in well with the ruffians at the outpost dressed like that.”

“I did not have the forethought nor time to bring a spare change of clothing,” Phasma answered in what she considered to be her best sarcastic response to date, though it was mostly lost through her vocoder.

“I’m afraid we are fresh out of spare clothes ourselves,” Maz informed her. “Not that it would matter. You wouldn’t fit in Sami’s clothes, much less mine.” She winked at Phasma, which only served to confuse her. If she was a good judge of facial expressions, which she was not, Phasma wondered if sarcasm was meant to be playful as well as denoting stupidity. “Regardless, I doubt you’ll want us to barter a ship for you without you being present, and you’re going to need to find suitable clothing at the outpost, so I suggest we all get to know one another. I’ll start.” Maz took off her goggles and hat and placed a tiny blaster squarely on the table. “My name is Maz Kanata. I’m over a thousand years old but feel as young as a spring Porg. I live on Takodana, or did anyway, until my castle was blown up last week by the First Order.”

Phasma knew exactly what Maz had meant. She was supposed to be down at Takodana that day to aid Kylo Ren in finding the BB unit but Armitage had insisted she be at his side on  _ Starkiller  _ during the first firing of the laser cannon. She was suddenly very glad to have not been down there or she most certainly would have killed Maz, not knowing who she was.

“Okay, Sami, your turn,” Maz nodded to the woman. Sami had been in the shadows near the cockpit, staring warily at Phasma. She shook her head no. Maz grimaced and commanded she come sit with large waves of her short arms. “Oh, get over yourself, Sami. The Captain had nothing to do with the destruction on Takodana.”

With a heavy sigh, Sami came to sit at the table. She took off her green hat and placed a decent sized blaster pistol that had appeared at some point on her belt after she emerged from the cockpit onto the table in front of her.

“My name is Sami Wolffe. I am twenty-seven years old. I was born on Corellia though I moved around so much as a kid I can’t really call anywhere home.” Phasma noted her accent was roughly Mandalorian.

There was a pause until Maz spoke. “It’s your turn, Captain.”

Phasma paused for a long moment. She hadn’t shown her face to anyone except Armitage on rare occasion in the last three years. She had been a model stormtrooper, the greatest out of millions, and she had considered her uniform to be her highest point of pride. To be seen out of it would only be viewed as disloyal. But, of course she was disloyal. She had chosen to abandon her post, her government and, worst of all, her friend. She was uncomfortable with revealing her face but, in the end, did she really deserve to wear the uniform at all?

Phasma placed her blaster rifle on the table. She then pulled out a pistol from her holster and put that one next to the rifle. Next she reached behind her and unsheathed a hidden knife in her belt, putting that near her pistol. She pulled out another hidden blade from out of her boot. With each weapon, Maz and Sami grew more astonished at the growing pile. It finally ended when Phasma had put her last dagger, a kyber axe, three plasma grenades, a small electro-baton and her razor wire with the rest of the weapons.

Maz and Sami stared at the cache.

Phasma reached up to the clips on the side of her helmet and unclasped them. There was a hiss as the air expelled through small chambers and then she slid the helmet off. Once she was able to see past the dark of the visor, she noticed that Maz was actually a more highlighted tinge of orange than she had realized. Sami was more or less the same with her long, black hair and olive skin, though her eyes went wide at the first sight of Phasma. Perhaps she had never seen someone quite so blonde before.

Phasma sat down at the table. “My name is Phasma, Captain of the Stormtroopers, previously stormtrooper BRI-3. I am twenty-eight years old. I am from Arcadia Stormtrooper Academy.”

“Are you actually Arcadian?” Maz asked. Phasma shook her head.

“I don’t know. I don’t believe so. It’s possible I’m from Raxus.” Phasma replied. She heard fragments of her dream whisper in her head.  _ …Last of the Parnassi. _ “Or Parnassi? Does that sound familiar to you?”

Both Maz and Sami shook their heads. “I’ve never heard of Parnassi,” Maz stated. “Perhaps that’s something to look into. Meanwhile, we’ll be arriving at the trader outpost in just under an hour and we need to figure out how to dress you. Out of curiosity, how tall are you? Six, three?”

“Six, six.”

Maz whistled low. “You could be the most average looking person in the galaxy and you would still stick out like a sore thumb.”

“Are you saying I’m not average looking?” Phasma asked in genuine perplexity.

“You are definitely  _ not _ average looking,” was one of the first things Phasma heard Sami actually declare, giving her an expression like she was _ way  _ off base.

“I don’t understand,” Phasma remarked. No one had ever discussed her appearance in any way, but when she looked in the mirror, she certainly seemed normal looking despite a few minor scars. “Is my face not suitable enough for exposure?”

“Let me put it this way,” Maz reassured, noting Phasma’s confusion, “you have a very memorable face. The blonde hair, blue eyes, six foot frame…you’re going to get a few stares. Why don’t we figure out how to keep you disguised, all right? Sami, hand me your hat.”

Sami gave it to Maz, and Maz slapped it onto Phasma’s head. They both eyed Phasma in thought.

“Well, that’s not going to work, but it’s the best we can do for now,” Sami replied. “I might have some goggles I use for desert planets around here and that will at least provide more camouflage.” Sami rifled through some cabinets before finding them and wrapping them around Phasma’s head. “There! Now you’re all set!”

“So…about the armor,” Phasma responded.

“Yes, well, you obviously can’t wear that,” Maz answered, scratching her chin in thought. “I know the body glove is tight, but can you just wear that?”

“I might as well be walking around in my underwear.”

“Is that so bad?” Sami asked with a hint of something in her voice that Phasma couldn’t quite distinguish.

“Of course. Would you walk around in your underwear?”

“I’m not a six foot beautifully built blonde woman…” Sami muttered so low Phasma wasn’t sure it was what she had said.

“We’ll think of something,” Maz interrupted. “We have half an hour till we get there. How attached are you to your cape?”

“Very.”

“What if you could still wear it…but not as a cape?”

 

Phasma had never worn a dress in her life. It was only slightly less awkward by the fact it was fashioned out of her beloved cape. She walked down the gangplank barefooted because they had no shoes for her. Maz and Sami followed on either side of her.

“Maz?” the port manager asked in bewilderment after he had done a double take. “Where’s your ship? What the kriff is that?”

“Oh, that?” Maz thumbed back at the ship. “Just a little something we ‘borrowed’ on Takodana.”

“Yeah, I heard about your castle,” he replied sympathetically with a shake of his head. “Don’t know where I’m going to get my bootleg Vestu gin now.”

“Don’t pretend you’ve got bigger problems than me, Jale,” she responded. She indicated to Sami and Phasma to keep walking. Jale somehow noticed Phasma only after taking stock of the junker.

“Whoa! Pretty lady!” Despite wearing a mismatch of the green hat, sand goggles and a black dress, he stared at her in interest with wide eyes. “Don’t think I know you. I’m Jale. I work this dock.”

They all realized at once their mistake. They never thought to give Phasma a name. The Captain had no experience in pretending to be someone else and did not have the imagination to come up with a fake moniker. She only knew that she couldn’t say Phasma. She decided to rely on the previous name she was given, especially since the records had been erased and could not be connected to her.

“BRI-3,” she stated, standing in her military posture.

“Say what?” Jale responded in confusion.

“Er, that’s how her name is spelled,” Maz jumped in. “Bee are eye ee. Brie.”

“Oh, good to see some nice, big women around like you, Brie.” He gave her a waggle of his eyebrows.

“Striking, isn’t she?” Sami quickly agreed, though she was pushing Phasma quicker down the dock.

“Come along, Brie!” Maz shouted. Phasma needed only two long steps to be walking alongside her.

“We should get some clothes first,” Phasma hoarsely whispered to Maz.

“With those legs,” Maz only had to eye over to the side, “you betcha. We’ve got no choice.”

 

Phasma was much more comfortable in the men’s clothes they bought for her. Currently, she sat in the local cantina at a booth with Maz beside her and Sami across the table. She held her cape folded in her lap, stroking it like it was a hurt puppy. 

They were waiting on the Resistance member who had offered to sell a new ship to Sami after her old one had been lost during the raid on Takodana. She had the credits stashed in her pack, counting it under the table in preparation for the exchange. Phasma watched her hands filter through the credits with a fluidity that she generally only recognized in soldiers. It occurred to her that Sami might be ex-military, just like she also happened to be.

Maz watched the door until she perked up and then waved over to a man who looked like he might have been hit with a riot baton one too many times. He had scars on his face and weaved as though he had several concussions. Maz slid out of the booth and greeted him. From there, Phasma and Sami watched as the two conversed with lots of hand gestures for several minutes, the man glancing over at them once or twice, before there was a shake of the head and Maz came back to them with a grim look.

“Your ship is ready,” she indicated to Sami, “but he says he can’t sell any recon ships because they’re too valuable to the Resistance. Even the TIE trade and mentions of intel were taken lightly.”

Phasma was in a bind. She needed a recon ship to be able to stealthily retrieve the data from the base at Bestine. “What would he take?”

“He asked if the intel came with a list of star maps the Resistance is in urgent need of. You don’t by any chance have a list of star maps randomly stashed away with your chrome, do you?”

Phasma shook her head. Even her photographic memory would not help her here. “No, though Bestine base would most certainly have what they need. If they give me the ship, I’ll get their star maps when I infiltrate the base.”

“I think they’re going to need more collateral than that. They need assurance because they can’t afford to lose a recon ship. They’re very hard to come by.”

“Even with the TIE trade?” Phasma asked. “What is with the Resistance? How are these not acceptable offers?”

“Would Bestine base have data about the clone army?” Sami interjected. Phasma shrugged.

“I’m sure they would. That information would most likely not be difficult to obtain.”

There was a moment while Sami considered this. She suddenly glanced to Phasma with a calculating look. “What is your plan on getting on the base? Where would you leave the ship while you were infiltrating it?”

“I have not yet figured out the entire plan.”

“Sounds like you’re going to need a pilot then.” Sami turned to Maz. “Tell your guy we don’t need the other ship. He can have the credits, the TIE, and the junker sitting out on the dock for the recon ship.”

“I still don’t think that will be enough,” Maz replied.

“Let him know that you, Maz Kanata, give your word that they will receive the star maps in three days time.”

“Wait, you’re going to make me put my name to your word…?”

“You know I’m good for it. I have a plan.”

Maz sighed and began to hobble back to her Resistance contact. “I hope this works.”

“Oh!” Sami called after Maz. “And tell him we need a breaching pod!”

 

Phasma did not have to duck to step into the recon ship. It was much larger than the junker and had a fair amount of updated tech.

“What do you think?” Sami asked as she entered.

“It is acceptable.” Phasma replied, dropping her bag of armor onto the floor with a metallic thud.

“Well, don’t get too comfortable. After we get your information off Bestine base, we’re going to have to sell the recon back to the Resistance and purchase our own ships.”

“Understood.” Phasma stashed her armor into one of the closets. She wasn’t quite sure what she was going to do with it but she couldn’t part with it just yet.

Sami sat at the console of the ship and started up the engines. They hummed in identical frequencies, warming up for their inevitable departure. 

“Shouldn’t we wait for Maz?” Phasma asked.

“No need,” Sami answered, flipping switches and checking her stats. “She’s staying here to cash in on a few debts. Let’s hope this meeting with her union reps doesn’t go as poorly as the last one.”

Phasma had no idea what she was talking about but decided to leave it that way. Sami engaged the thrusters and they were off.

“Woah!” Sami laughed cheerfully at the sudden acceleration. “Bestine Base is never going to know what hit them. Just like  _ Starkiller _ , eh?”

Phasma tensed like lightning had shot through her spine.  _ Starkiller _ . And like that, she was gone.

 

_ Thousands of stormtroopers. Soldiers all lost to the desolation. _

_ It was her fault. _

_ Cold and metallic, the room is bleak in the harsh light. He sways in his fetal position and clasps his hands to his ears. “Make it stop!” _

_ Phasma wraps her tiny arms around him but she can’t stave off the cold. Blood runs from his ears and drips on her legs. “What did they do to you, brother?” He grimaces and covers her mouth with one bloody hand. _

_ “Shh.” _

_ The door opens and men in white rush through, giving none of the children a chance to escape. They pull him up by his arms and Phasma clings onto him with her scrawny hands. _

_ “No! Don’t take him away!” She grabs onto one of the men and bites into his wrist as hard as she can. He screams out and yanks his hand away. She is knocked to the floor, and before she can get up is kicked in the face by one of the men. She tends to the rapid swelling in her cheek as the man points at her with rage in his expression. “He’ll pay for what you’ve done.” The door slams shut. Her brother is crying out. _

_ Phasma! Save us!  _

_ It was her fault. _

 

A light jab to her shoulder pulled Phasma out of her memory. She whipped over to see Sami holding Phasma’s rifle at full extension, pushing the butt end of it into her shoulder.

“Uh, you okay there…?” Sami asked. She was not good at suppressing her fear of Phasma’s reaction. With a clench of her fists, Phasma felt the guilt and anger rise in her like steam. Remorse wrenched in her stomach, nearly doubling her over in painful shame.

Before Sami was even aware of it, Phasma had jerked the rifle out of her hands. She backed away in alarm until Phasma reached into her bag, pulled out her helmet, shoved it on and disappeared into the other room.


	11. Chapter 11

Phasma held her breath as the breaching pod latched onto Bestine Base.  She’d never used this particular infiltration technique before. She would have preferred the elegance of her stealth shuttle or the confident show of force inherent in a transport ship full of stormtroopers.  Instead, the Resistance had arranged for her to enter the base alone and nearly information blind. There seemed to be no better solution to the problem of getting her aboard the secure station where archives of decades-old records from the former galactic Empire were kept.  The base was too well-defended against assault for the resources the Resistance was willing to risk and too well-monitored for a stealth ship to dock. She would have to pretend to be a meteor stuck to the hull.

The breaching pod performed adequately, which Phasma had to admit meant ‘perfectly.’  Anything short of perfection would have set off alarms and left her exposed with no route of retreat.  She grimaced, hating that she was forced to trust to luck that her point of entry would be deserted yet connected to life support.  The pod's exterior lasers finished firing. It was now welded onto the station forming an air-tight seal above the hull which had been perforated.  Phasma twisted opened the pod’s hatch and kicked down at the detached piece of the hull. It gave way easily, and she dropped into an empty corridor of Bestine Base.

Phasma felt the artificial gravity once again tug at her boots, forcing her to straighten her spine and pull back her shoulders.  She’d travelled most of the way here in Sami’s obsolete transport frigate, then switched to her newer but cramped recon ship. Neither were fitted with such luxuries as grav plating.  Now back in First Order territory, she swelled with the memories of her former authority. No matter her purpose today, the achievements she’d earned had been deserved. The respect from her troops, the awe from junior staff, the friendship with Hux; it was all real.  

She realized that her point of no return was rapidly approaching.  Though tricky, she could still reemerge and proclaim her eternal loyalty to the First Order.  She could fabricate a story to explain how she’d been abducted during the destruction of the  _ Supremacy.   _ Tortured perhaps, then escaped but forced to lay low until now.  She even had a few nuggets about the Resistance to offer as proof.  She knew instinctively (and with some shame) that General Hux would back up anything she said, too delighted to have her back to properly investigate the facts of her account.

Phasma heard the clack of two sets of armored boots rising and falling in perfect cadence.  Stormtroopers, and well-trained ones, she acknowledged with a twinge in her chest. She made her decision and pressed herself flat against the wall just beyond the turn of the corridor.  Her dark clothing should provide the crucial second of camouflage she needed. The troopers would be disposed of before they could draw their weapons.

Kill no one with a mask; that was her rule or, at least, her guideline.  Those who wore masks were generally just following orders, no more responsible for their aggression than the blasters they wielded.  She swung behind the two stormtroopers as they passed. They reacted to her motion but too late and too slow. Her expert strikes were aimed straight at the joints in their armor plates and areas where covering was the thinnest.  She could tell right away that these two hadn’t been trained by her personally. They’d simply never fought someone of her caliber hand to hand combat before. (Lacking a keen sense of ego, Phasma entertained this thought as a mere assessment of fact, not a boast).

Once she had the men disarmed, subdued, and stunned by their own weapons, she evaluated her position.  Stealth was key to her survival and the success of her mission. She'd hoped to find a disguise that would conceal her appearance and allow her to walk the base unchallenged.  Neither of the men were large enough, however, so she could not enjoy the familiar embrace of stormtrooper armor. 

Phasma stripped the men of their weapons, arming herself with blaster, stun baton, and – as valuable as the rest – a datadump of the base's map from their helmet's HUD.  She then hid their unconscious bodies in a machine room, bound and gagged. They would be found eventually, but not anytime soon. Bestine Base was hardened against frontal assaults and electronic intrusions but lightly garrisoned.  Only a few areas required guards to maintain restricted access. The First Order placed too much trust in their security measures. Phasma could almost see Sami grinning at the hubris.

She hesitated for a moment before pinning on the false credentials Sami had provided.  She would have far preferred to blend in as a stormtrooper, but she’d have to settle for presenting herself as a Lt. General.  She didn’t think the disguise would pass an even cursory inspection, and her – what had Sami called it, striking? – appearance would be bound to draw attention.  ‘Half of it is attitude,’ Sami had insisted, ‘just walk like you belong there and no one will challenge you. This is the First Order we’re talking about. They know that insubordination gets them an express trip to the brig, like it as not.  Attitude. And stare down anyone who looks twice at you. Your glare… it’s something else.’

Thus, Phasma strode with a confidence she didn’t feel toward the base’s secure data room.  Everyone she passed along the way did a double-take at her unfamiliar form. Her brisk, long-legged stride and the outer markings of high rank kept them quiet, however.  Someone else could delay the Lt. General from what was obviously an important task; if she was out of place, she'd be stopped, they each reasoned.

A pair of stormtrooper guards stood outside the data room, as expected.  They were alert and tending to their duties, checking the identification of a stout, black haired general before allowing him access.  

Phasma's first blaster shot went to the security camera.  Ambushing one of the stormtroopers would have been preferable, but she didn’t want to allow herself to be caught on surveillance video.  Even if no one could identify her face, they might recognize her fighting style. Her obvious knowledge about the vulnerabilities of stormtrooper armor and small unit battle tactics would surely raise eyebrows if anyone analyzed the footage.  Besides, she never felt fully clothed without her mask.

The stormtroopers moved to protect the general, as they’d been trained.  As Phasma knew they would. Even if the general had drawn a weapon (which he had not, Phasma noted in disgust), his shot would have been spoiled.  She vowed that she’d never allow her battle instincts to become so dull. The stormtroopers shot for her center of mass, but she anticipated the attack and pivoted out of the line of fire.  In a blur of motion, she was at the flank of the leftmost one, twisting his arm behind his back and dislodging his weapon. She shoved him into the other stormtrooper, causing them both to stumble.  As almost an afterthought, she shot the now-exposed general through the throat. 

As their superior officer crumbled lifeless to the deck, both stormtroopers regrouped to attack.  Phasma met their aggression with her own. She stuck the first a brutal blow to the helmet with the hilt of her blaster, cracking both.  He hit the bulkhead with a satisfying thud that indicated he was out of the fight. She spun to engage the second, wedging the length of her stun baton between his helmet and chest protector.  She heard a choking sound and pushed with all her might, also working a knee into his diaphragm so he could not breathe. The blaster he aimed at her gut trembled, wobbled, then dropped from his limp hand.  

He surrendered and, doubtless to his surprise, Phasma did not kill him but instead gestured for him to drag his companion into the data room.  She sat them back to back on the floor and cuffed them together using their security clips. She then stunned them both unconscious. All the while, she said nothing, not wanting to give away anything more of her identity.  Her voice had rarely been recorded outside her duty stations, but she’d heard some describe it as distinctive.

The base’s computers opened their secrets to the slicing programs provided by the Resistance.  They wanted some fairly obscure star maps and any records on the remnants of the clone army after the collapse.  Phasma could see little harm in providing such out of date information to her former enemies. Star maps were generally unrestricted, and the outcomes of thousands of clones held little interest for her.

The LED on her datakey turned blue indicating that the Resistance data was fully downloaded.  Phasma’s own search proved fruitful as well. Brendol Hux may have been a poor specimen of a man in many ways, but he did know how to organize files.  A wealth of data tagged to Project BRI filled the screen. There were thousands of letters between the BRI directors (providing the blackest of blackmail material if any remained in a position to be damaged by it), memos of autopsy reports, and raw data on hundreds of evaluations.  She was sure to find much of value here. She downloaded it all for later analysis and planted the Resistance data worm that would gradually corrupt all the records. Her last act was to reassign one of the stormtroopers currently unconscious on the floor to piloting a supply ship to the nearby planet.  His armor looked only two sizes too small. It would have to do.

 

Phasma finished loading in the supplies from the Bestine IV warehouse.  By methodical habit she had arranged the crates with maximal efficiency for packing space.  Calculating that enough time had passed, she stripped off the too-small armor and sat it in a pile on the floor.  She reluctantly left the helmet with the rest of the gear, already dreading the idea of showing her naked face to the entire planet.  

The First Order supply zone gave way to a more general use spaceport with shops, hotels, and bars.  Assuming all went according to plan, her Resistance contact would meet her at the The Thirsty Tauntaun and provide extraction from the system.  Phasma had already grown cynical about the likelihood of Resistance plans proceeding without a hitch. They seemed to abhor contingency planning and backup measures to an almost perverse degree.  Flexibility and quick thinking were valuable skills, but Phasma always preferred to cut off problems before they occurred. The Resistance relied on luck and (irritatingly) usually succeeded.

Sami sauntered into the bar, dressed in loose fabrics that draped attractively on her form.  Her dark hair was styled to frame her face, and golden jewelry accented her neck and ears. Her appearance far more resembled that of a traveling merchant than a Resistance agent.  Of course, that was the point. Spies could hardly advertise their profession. Phasma felt suddenly conspicuous in her dark, nondescript clothing. Of the two of them, she actually looked the part. 

Sami bought a drink and joined Phasma at her table, without really seeming to survey the room beforehand.  Phasma hoped their pairing looked natural. She was overly conscious of her bare face and her inexperience at having to hide her expressions.  She hadn’t taken any vitamins since before the pod launched and rued their absence now. Her nervousness escalated more as Sami tried to make casual conversation.  Phasma replied so brusquely that anyone listening in would think she didn’t speak the language.

Finally sensing that talking casual was not in Phasma's wheelhouse, Sami dropped her voice to ask, “Did you get everything?”

“Yes,” Phasma said, relieved to turn to business.  Once Sami had verified the delivery was intact, they could leave this system for safer space.

“Can I see?”

Phasma passed over the data stick.  She hadn’t copied it yet, but the odds that Sami would be able to escape with it were satisfyingly low.  Also, she didn’t seem the sort of person who would do that. Phasma was uncomfortable with making personal evaluations, but still felt it to be the case.

Sami scanned it into a hand-held device.  She paged through, nodding with satisfaction.  Phasma noticed her brow contract in emotion more than once.

“Bad news?” Phasma asked.  

“Not unexpected, just… you know.  Shall we get out of here?” She handed back the data stick under cover of extending her hand.  Phasma reacted a second late, slow to realize that she was supposed to exit the bar holding Sami’s hand.  To all outward appearances, the merchant had picked up a tough mercenary for a fling.

The recon ship was docked nearby.  She exchanged words and quite a few credits with the dock master thanking him for allowing her to jump the refueling line.  

“I paid under the table so he gets to keep all the money for himself instead of most of it going to the fuel company,” Sami explained.  “Conveniently, this will also keep my ship off the docking lists, in case the First Order goes so far as to track down which ships arrived and left the planet.”

“They will,” Phasma said.  A computer intrusion, the death of a general, several assaulted stormtroopers, and an abandoned shuttle would be far too much to overlook.  The First Order did not tolerate carelessness even in its less important facilities. There would be a full-blown investigation that would gradually travel up the chain of command as it remained unsolved.  Perhaps even General Hux would see a report, though she didn’t think there was any detail that would cause him to think of her.

Sami set in a course for Eriadu.  “You found what you wanted, too?”

“Yes.  I’ve known for a while that the worst of the experiments were performed at a lab on Raxus.  Unfortunately, I couldn't zero in on its location because that name had been redacted from the official records as thoroughly as my own.  In these records, I see communications between the Raxus scientists and others throughout the former Empire. I should be able to triangulate the location by tracing the routes of the messages.”

“That sounds… logical.  What then?”

“I visit and see what’s left of the place.  I’m fairly certain it will be deserted, but they can’t eradicate everything.  I’ll find something. I’m sure. Maz said I would.” Phasma didn’t like to admit that she was depending on some combination of the visions and the force to guide her way.  Her plan was to ransack the place, all the while waiting for the tug at her mind.

“Maz knows her business, true enough,” Sami said.  

“What was in it for you?” Phasma asked.  At first she’d assumed Sami was merely following orders from Resistance command, but that didn’t explain her reaction at seeing the data.  Curiosity – still an unfamiliar sensation – prickled her awareness.

“Family tree,” Sami said.  “I have a big family, but most of them are dead now.  I was hoping there were a few more of us out there, but no such luck.  Everyone’s dead or so deep in hiding that it amounts to the same thing.”

“Oh.  Were they on, um, Hosnian Prime?” Phasma asked.  The First Order’s successes were usually complete enough that she didn’t have to confront the after-effects of their actions.  She didn’t enjoy it.

“No, they were scattered all over.  Most died in combat; a few from natural causes.  Almost none had kids of their own.” Seeing Phasma growing more confused, Sami delivered the coup de grace.  “Clones. My father was one of the original Empire clones. You’d think if he could overcome his programming and fall in love, all of them could, but that doesn’t seem to be the case.  Most of them enlisted in whatever army would have them. They seemed to feel purposeless without a conflict.”

“I see,” Phasma said.  She could feel Sami’s gaze trying to break through her defenses.  She swallowed, forcing herself to acknowledge the kinship. “It can be difficult when that’s all you’ve ever known.  Finding someone like your mother must have given him a bridge to integrate into society. I hope they were happy together.”

“They were, yeah.  As happy as society would let them be.  Clones were seen as failures, you know. Experiments that didn’t quite work out.  No one really trusted them or thought they could think for themselves. Then I was born, and my parents found that attitude extended to me as well.  No matter what scores I achieved in school, for some reason the internships and awards never came my way. We withdrew, further away from the central planets of the Empire. Naturally, when the Empire crumbled, many went over to the Resistance.”

“That’s a… woeful misuse of resources,” Phasma said.  She could barely contain her outrage at the wasted potential and unjust denial of merits.  Once again, her indoctrination about how the First Order should work and the reality on the ground were causing dissonance for her mind.

Sami shook her head at the understatement.  “That’s the thing about the Resistance, see?  They might not have much, but they’re willing to give everyone the opportunity to shine.  It doesn’t matter to them if you’re a half-clone or a former stormtrooper biologically engineered within a millimeter of your life.  All that’s important is whether you can get the job done and not betray your allies. Looks to me like it suits you.”

As was so often the case, Phasma didn’t have the words to communicate the warmth that rose like a bubble in her chest.  It felt like her brother smiling, like receiving her armor before her troops, like Hux’s flustered embarrassment on giving her the new silverstaff.  

Acceptance.  The First Order claimed to fill that primal need, but aside from Hux, it had only taken and not given back.  Sami had opened up to her, offered her a place in the Resistance. Phasma ached to accept, but…

“The agenda of the Resistance is not my own.  I am pleased to cooperate when we have aligning goals, but I cannot abandon my quest to suit the dictates of any commander.”

“Gotcha.  You can take care of yourself.  I knew that. Can’t blame a girl for trying.  Back to Maz, then?”

“Yes, let's see what she thinks about this data.  I'll need some time to sort through it myself and find my next target.  I hope she's willing to have me as a guest. I'm in need of a meal and a bath.”

“I'm sure she'll extend her hospitality.  Her place on Eriadu isn’t as nice as her castle was, but let’s just say she doesn’t believe in roughing it at her age.”

“Does she have a hot shower?  That would be most pleasant.”

“Yes it would,” slipped out of Sami's mouth.  She cut her eyes toward Phasma, but the former stormtrooper’s expression betrayed nothing but earnest interest.  “I mean, yes, she does.”

“Oh good,” Phasma said and opened her datapad.  She began reading through the newly acquired BRI project files, leaving Sami to simmer in her strange and alarmingly growing attraction to the big, blonde woman.


	12. Chapter 12

Docking the recon ship back on Eriadu proved uneventful, as was the walk across the shipyard towards the heart of the outpost. As they neared the cantina where they were set to retrieve Maz, Phasma and Sami were stopped in their tracks when in front of them a humanoid crashed through the glass window of the cantina followed by blaster fire. Intense screaming from within stirred Phasma to run inside.

What she saw caught her in immense surprise. Maz, surrounded by a sea of men and aliens holding weapons, stood brave despite the misfortune that befell her. She threw her empty blaster at one of her assailants, hitting him square in the nose.

“My death won’t get you any closer to the money, traitors!” she shouted.

“Death isn’t the goal,” a large Gamorrean answered gruffly, slapping his club into the palm of his hand. “Give us the money and you might still have use for your goggles.”

“Never.” Maz grabbed the neck of a bottle off the table beside her, smashed the butt on the edge and thrust it threateningly at him.

The tiniest hint of advancement on Maz had Phasma reacting immediately. She grabbed a nearby chair, raised it in the air and plunged it downward onto the head of the nearest brute. The crashing of wood to skull caused every head to whip in her direction.

Before any of them had processed what they were seeing, Phasma socked her fist into the next scoundrel and kicked a third in his jewels. The howling by the third was finally enough to get the brawl bustling.

With heads turned away from her, Maz was surprisingly effective with her broken bottle. She managed to slice a lot of skin before it was finally hit out of her hand. She was a very resourceful fighter, using everything in her environment to thwart her assailants, but there’s only so much a four foot woman can do before she’s all out of bottles.

Sami, with her blaster, did her best in the skirmish. Taught by her father, a clone fully trained in hand-to-hand combat, proved she was a competent fighter but there was a difference in sparring with her father and fighting off three or four brutes of varying sizes and skill.

It was Phasma that had everyone running. Though she was a human experiment made for war and trained to be the pinnacle of military might, she wasn’t so much a fighter as she was a raging fire, razing everything in her path. It was clear early on that she would have to be taken down before she had knocked out enough of the mob where there was no stopping her. Waves of barbarians came at her, six, seven, maybe eight at a time, and they were all incapacitated by the immense skill she possessed. There was no way to hit her; she was fast enough to dodge and weave past any attack. It was impossible to escape her punches; her reach was too long and speed too quick. At one point, people passing by the cantina stopped to stare inside at the whirlwind of a woman wreaking havoc. Some were even smiling at the display. She was dexterous with a grace and finesse that was mesmerizing. It was art.

Soon enough, Phasma was standing in the middle of the cantina with a broken chair leg in one hand and a club she had picked up in her other. She was breathing hard, staring around at the many bodies strewn about the floor.

Sami stared at her in complete awe. “I have never seen anything like that b-…”

A hand grabbed Maz at her ankle and she screamed out. Phasma whirled around to face her only to find one of the brutes had managed to duck behind her as a shield, blaster pointed at her head.

“I’m leaving with this wench and if anyone tries to follow I’ll blast-…”

Phasma threw the leg of her chair at him. It sailed through the air in surprising speed, knocking into his temple hard enough his eyes rolled back into his skull and he dropped like an oak. Maz stood frozen in place with eyes so wide it looked like she was presently wearing her goggles.

Screaming from outside the cantina alerted the three that more of the barbarians were approaching. Before they saw anyone, plasma shots had already been fired at the entrance.

“Out the back!” Maz ordered as she pointed behind the bar. Phasma was quick to grab a few blasters off the floor and hand one to Sami while shoving her towards the back door. Maz was struggling to climb over the piles of unconscious bodies. Phasma grabbed her under her arms and pulled her up, settling her on her shoulders.

Once outside, it came as no surprise when there was a group of armed men waiting for an encounter. Phasma handed the blaster to Maz and barreled into the waiting ambush, striking her club and catching them off guard. From on her shoulders, Maz cocked the gun and trained her reticle on the brutes, blasting those impeding their escape. Phasma knocked down anyone nearby and Maz managed to take out the ones scattered around. As soon as the path was clear, Sami and Phasma sprinted towards the docks.

Plasma bolts struck all around them as they ran. Despite carrying seventy extra pounds, Phasma reached the recon ship first. They all boarded and Sami flung herself in the pilot’s chair, engaging the engines as soon as possible. Maz looked out the window to see a mob moving in on them with blasters shooting wildly. The recon ship lifted off and the mob was reduced to a pinpoint on the planet as they flew away.

 

“The downside of being a pirate is you can’t trust your bankers,” Maz mentioned later while the three were sat down in the common room.

“They didn’t look like bankers,” Phasma replied.

“Well, maybe bankers is too formal a term. Security guards, perhaps? Anyway, lucky for me I’m smarter than they are. They’re only on Eriadu to make it look like I hid a stash of credits there but it’s really at my safehouse.”

Phasma looked at her in confusion. “Wait, what where you doing on Eriadu then if not getting your credits?”

“Illusions,” Maz responded. “Now they all think I fled and are going to rummage around the outpost looking for something that’s not there. Meanwhile, I’m not being followed to my safehouse.”

“That’s one heck of a runaround. Almost seems unnecessary,” Sami mused.

“I’ve been a pirate for a thousand years. I know what’s necessary,” Maz answered. “Anyway, we’ll go to the safehouse, send the information you retrieved from Bestine to the Resistance, and you can use my database to pinpoint the location of the lab on Raxus.”

“Forgive me for being overly pragmatic,” Phasma said while giving Maz a suspicious look, “but am I to reason you’ll be allowing me to accompany you to your secret safehouse?” Even Sami gave Maz a thoughtful glare.

“I don’t see why not?” Maz responded casually. “I think you’ve shown yourself to be reasonably trustworthy. Also, you’re very good at keeping secrets, Captain.”

Phasma had been fully active the last few days with her personal mission to uncover and destroy the memories that had been haunting her for years, so it wasn’t until now that she had forgotten she had once been a Captain, and that she had failed her troops. A punch in her gut followed the thought.

_Exploding sectors. Troopers running. Alarms blaring red._

_The shield is down._

The urge to self-inflict punishment came in the form of clawing her fingers painfully in her legs beneath the table. It was enough to stabilize the involuntary eruption of emotion welling up in her chest. No vitamins to quell the response. She hoped the other two didn’t notice her change in mood.

Maz noticed right away. “What’s wrong with you?” she asked in concern as she hopped out of her chair to come inspect Phasma.

“Don’t come any closer,” Phasma returned in more of a warning than a threat. She suddenly felt a rush of heat through her body. Her heart began to race. Something was building inside her. It made her dizzy and nauseous and it scared her worse than any moment in battle. Phasma stifled a roar that was clenching to get out.

_Blood smeared walls. Everybody taken. Phasma is not coming._

_My brother is dead._

In a sudden rage, Phasma began to beat her forehead on the table.

“She’s having a panic attack,” Phasma heard Maz tell Sami. “Go get some water!” A hand was laid on the back of her head and Phasma didn’t want it there. She slapped it away but it returned, followed by a soothing voice that chanted in another language Phasma didn’t understand. She squeezed her eyes shut and continued to beat her head. The memories kept coming. Visions of her brother alone and dead on the floor of the cell. They had shown him to her.

_It was all my fault._

It took a full minute for the intensity that had wracked inside Phasma’s brain, the emotional overload in her chest to die down and Phasma found herself slowly easing out of the attack. The flashbacks faded out like being screened by opaque lenses and she was finally unburdened by it’s terrifying influence.

Exhausted by the tension that had emotionally and physically strained her, Phasma slumped over the table breathing hard. There was something on her back and she realized it was Maz who had climbed her like a tree to issue her soothing techniques.

“She had something similar happen a few days ago, but nothing like this,” Sami whispered to Maz, thinking Phasma couldn’t hear. Phasma had excellent hearing though. Better than anyone else she knew.

“Tell me everything,” Maz demanded.

Phasma wanted to listen to what they were saying but she was so tired. Sleep came so suddenly it was like it had been forced.

 

Phasma dreamed of orange sunsets, low tide beaches and a deep cave. It was a huge crevice carved into the cliff, surrounded by dark rocky beaches, but Phasma only felt comfort and safety.

_Home._

She woke up to someone gently shaking her shoulder.

“Wake up, Captain.” Phasma opened her eyes to Sami overhead, holding out a mug to her. “This will help you.”

“What is it?” Phasma asked as she pulled herself into a sitting position on the cot.

“Dunno. Some kind of tea, I think. Maz told me to give it to you.”

Phasma reached for it and with some hesitation sniffed it after a good look inside. It had a flowery fragrance that did not appeal to Phasma due to it’s dainty smell but she brought it to her lips and drank the contents anyway. It was more pungent than she expected but did not taste bad. Just more herbal than she was used to.

Sami wanted to ask her how she was feeling and all the things that someone who felt concern was want to say, but knowing Phasma was not comfortable with easing phrases opted for a more direct approach.

“You look fine,” she assured. “Let’s get inside.”

Phasma followed Sami outside the ship onto a flat grassy terrain where myriads of flowers grew upon a vast valley. The valley was cut short off a tall cliff hundreds of feet high, leading to an endless blue ocean. There was a geodesic dome Sami led her towards that looked like it could potentially house Maz, and no one else. Phasma went unquestioningly with Sami.

They went into the dome which led directly down some stairs. The corridor was just tall enough that Phasma did not have to duck through. They went through a doorway that opened out into a great room, bright with light and decorated with many antiquities. Sunshine filtered in through the far side, which was a wall of windows looking out over the ocean.

“Welcome, Captain,” Maz said, coming in from an attached room.

“Just Phasma from now on,” she responded, looking around the safehouse in repressed awe. It was much more luxurious than she had anticipated.

“Of course,” Maz nodded. “While you were getting your rest, I sent the data you retrieved to the Resistance and managed to tabulate the messages into my computer. All you have to do is triangulate the information to find the location of the Raxus lab.”

Phasma was hardly listening. There were so many artifacts on display. Old technology, ancient weapons, full sets of armor; it was practically a museum.

“What’s this?” Phasma asked of something that was clearly some kind of blaster.

“That is a gunpowder based weapon that uses small iron bearings inserted into a single shell in order to radiate a spray of projectiles. It is referred to as a shotgun.”

“A shotgun,” Phasma repeated. “I’ve heard of that.”

“They’re obviously outdated but I think it makes for a nice exhibit.”

“What about this?” Phasma asked looking up to a display of gray and silver armor.

“Ah, this one is interesting,” Maz replied, standing near Phasma as she spoke. “This one I got from a friend who took it from Captain Magna Tolvan.”

“ _The_ Magna Tolvan?” Phasma glanced down at Maz in surprise. “From the Inspectorate during the Empire years? Protegee to the great Inspector Thanoth?”

“The very one. This armor was originally used by a man named Tam Posla, a lawman who went rogue after the authorities he worked for would not give him the jurisdiction to pursue a known criminal into the underworld. He became a bounty hunter instead but was betrayed by his contractor who tricked him into getting captured and stripped of his armor in order to disguise an assailant.”

“Who was the assailant?”

“Why, Captain Tolvan, of course,” Maz laughed.

“What? Then who took it from Captain Tolvan?”

“A woman named Dr. Chelli Aphra. She was the contractor who tricked Tam Posla.”

“I think I’m going to need the story behind this one.”

“I told you it was interesting, but it’ll have to wait. There’s a lab we need to find.”

 

Placing the data points into the computer pinpointed an area on a map of Raxus near a mountainous region. There was little information about the region which indicated it was a classified area. It was a good place to put a military base.

“Make sure the recon ship doesn’t get destroyed while you’re out there,” Maz told Phasma. “Otherwise, you owe Sami a lot of credits.”

“It should be well hidden if I touch down here,” she responded, indicating a spot on the map.

“That’s twenty miles away from the base. It will take you a long time to get there,” Sami remarked. “And what if you got into some trouble. Could you run all the way back without getting captured?”

“Where else would I put the ship? The terrain is too rocky to land it anywhere else,” Phasma rationalized. “Besides, the ship could be spotted if I went any closer.”

“You could sneak in here,” Sami pointed to another location near a peak, “and it would save you a lot of time and effort.”

“But there’s nowhere to land the ship.”

“I’ll drop you off. You can radio me when you’re ready to get out.”

Phasma looked at her speculatively. “That would probably work.”

“Good. You two can take any weapons you need from my stash. Just one thing, we don’t know how fortified that base is nor whose soldiers are manning it. There are no stormtroopers to disguise yourself as.”

“You’re probably going to need a mask because there are sure to be cameras everywhere,” Sami remarked. “We can stop at an outpost and buy one, however, if you’re seen in the base, anyone asking around about the uniform might be able to find you.”

“I’d rather stay under the radar,” Phasma said thoughtfully. “I only have my chrome armor, which would be unwise to wear.”

“Unless you want everyone knowing you’re still alive,” Maz answered.

Phasma contemplated for a moment before looking up at the displays in the main room. “How tall was Tam Posla?”

 

Sami and Phasma picked out their weapons, loaded the recon ship and then settled into the safe house for the night. They would leave tomorrow.

Unsure how to relax, Phasma opted to take several jogs around the valley, clean her weapons and perform push-ups when there was nothing else to do.

“No wonder she’s got a great physique,” Sami said to Maz as they sat at the table and watched Phasma from afar.

Again, Phasma had excellent hearing. A blush radiated through her face, hidden by the flush caused by her exercise. She had never had anything like that happen to her before. The vitamins had truly worn off by now.

 

Maz was an exceptional hostess, even to someone not used to being a guest, like Phasma.

Phasma didn’t know how to be anything other than a soldier. She ate fast, stood at attention at all times and shifted uncomfortably because there were no duties or rounds to make. Maz figured the best way to get Phasma to sit down was to tell her stories, and because she has lived for a thousand years, she has many stories to tell. It took at least half an hour through the first story for Phasma to loosen up enough to sit on the couch. Apparently, Phasma was not used to having stories told to her. She was wide-eyed like a child by the end.

“...so anyway, that’s why Dr. Aphra gave it to me and it’s been sitting in this display cabinet for the last thirty years,” Maz indicated to where Tam Posla’s uniform had once occupied.

“I’m…not sure I believe that story,” Phasma replied. Although she had resigned to sitting, she refused to give up her straight posture and did not lean back.

“It’s a lot to take in, but I assure you, it’s all true,” Maz said as she rose out of her chair. “And now if you’ll excuse me, you youngin’s can stay up, but I’m middle aged so I need my sleep.”

The safe house was luxurious but compact. There were only two bedrooms, one belonging to Maz, the other Sami had claimed.

“You can sleep on the bed if you want,” Sami offered her earlier but Phasma refused. She did not need comforts and was fine sleeping on the couch, though the floor seemed like a better option just so she could stretch out. She hadn’t realized there had been a subtle proposal involved.

Aside from the occasional memories that invaded her subconsciousness, Phasma was not one to dream. Most of her life her slumber was an empty flash between waking moments. Tonight was one of the exceptions.

Among the blankets settled on the floor, she tossed and turned when the memories turned dark.

_Explosion of Starkiller. Thousands gone in an instant._

_Shots fired into the villagers of Jakku._

_Red knife plunged into the back of Brendol Hux._

Like holovids of her life, the images went further back in time, turning darker and hazier until it reached a point that her subconscious could only supply what it had, barely snapshots.

_Screaming through the cells._

_Blood rushing out his ears._

_Needles._

_Pain._

It was a whirlwind of terror that forced through her mind. Still half-asleep, she clutched her pillow and fought back the rage and suffering that accompanied the memories.

Just when she felt the pain begin to pierce deep enough to cry out, a hand laid on her temple and a soothing chant whispered in her ear. The memories stopped coming but the emotion was still there.

A body circled her from behind, arms wrapping her into an embrace, and the chanting continued from above. Not the same person.

A pinpoint of light widened in Phasma’s mind and it opened up to a rocky beach with waves crashing. Far out in the sea was the silver pinnacle reflecting white light towards the beach. A hand grasped Phasma’s and she looked up to the smiling face of her brother.

_“She protects us,” he tells her with a happiness she had once known. “And I will always protect you.” He pretends to save her from the crashing waves. They laugh and run back to the cave._

With her fears dissipated, Phasma fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story of Doctor Aphra, Captain Magna Tolvan and Tam Posla is Star Wars cannon. It can be found in the Doctor Aphra graphic novel series entitled Remastered. [Here's a link to the entire comic because I can't resist sharing.](http://viewcomic.com/star-wars-doctor-aphra-014-2018/)
> 
> For reference, [this](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Tam_Posla) is what the uniform Phasma will be wearing to Raxus looks like.


	13. Chapter 13

Phasma jumped out of the recon ship as soon as it was close enough to the peak. She dropped fifteen feet then looked up to Sami as she headed off with a salute. With her blaster clenched in her gloved fists, Phasma crouched low and ran towards the base.

It was easy to spot the Raxus lab, especially from the top of the snowy peak. Information about the BRI project or Dr. Barrik’s whereabouts was potentially somewhere down there. She pulled out her quadnocs and zeroed in on the checkpoints. They were not well guarded, and she could tell by their clothing that the men were only hired guns. Undoubtedly they were working for one of the clans out in this sector of the galaxy. She didn’t know which one, but it made no difference. It was time to find out why they were here and what they were guarding.

Phasma easily slipped through the perimeter by deflecting the laser barrier and made her way towards the nearest building unseen. She entered the administration office but it was empty and quiet. No one had used it in a long time.

It seemed lucky she had found her way here first. She rummaged through the rooms, filtering through the aging desks before stopping short when she caught sight of a name plaque at one of the doors.

_ Brendol Hux _

She immediately entered, finding that the room was not familiar to her. She didn’t know what to expect from her search, but ever since approaching the planet, Phasma had been bracing herself for a flood of memories. The trigger hadn’t come though and she couldn’t help but feel relieved.

Brendol’s old computer was sitting on a dusty desk. She had anticipated this and pulled out her own datapad plus a convertible power cell. Hooking up the computer to the power cell, she managed to power it up. A passcode was needed, though the computer was outdated by recent technology and an encryption key easily bypassed it.

Her hopes were dashed when the computer sputtered complete nonsense. It had not been maintained in the last twenty years and the files had all been corrupted. She punched her fist through the thin translucent screen.

She doubted she would be able to get anything off of any of the other computers. They all looked considerably worse than Brendol’s. 

Phasma snuck over to a window and looked out among the frostbitten base. There were another seven buildings to look through. Judging by the shape of the next building over, it looked to be a barracks of some sort. The one all the way across the small compound was taller and looked like a good place for a lab. It seemed the most promising.

Before stealing through the base, Phasma climbed the top of the administration building and counted the number of guards she could spot. There were some up in the watch towers, a few manning the gates, but most of them seemed to be casually patrolling the buildings, especially a small windowless one that sat in the middle of the compound. About twenty men strolling the perimeter and probably another ten somewhere she couldn’t see. Every one of them looked inexperienced and like they were possible ex-prisoners of the First Order. Phasma was certain she could incapacitate them all with one hand tied behind her back.

As it was, she crept through the base, careful to avoid cameras, ducking in hidden crevices when a patrol came through. She managed to overhear some of their ramblings.

“...is the most obnoxious asshole here. If I hear any more bullshit from his lying pie hole, I’m going to ram my vibrotorch up his ass.”

“He’s not _ that  _ bad.”

“Fuck off with that shit. He’s the worst. You know he was that one that shredded my blankets, right?”

“Well,  _ you  _ were the one that shat in his pillowcase.”

“That’s totally different! He had it coming, what with cockblocking me with that chick on Taanab.”

“You’re lucky Otini let’s you get away with that shit. Any of the other Kadall’s would slit your throat.”

Ah, the Kadall clan. Notorious for running the black market in this sector. They were gun runners and thieves, maximizing on large heists to fund their underground enterprises. They were also known to dabble in a little gambling and sex trafficking as well.

The conversation between the guards grew in decibels until they passed Phasma’s hiding spot and began to fade away. She crept out and headed towards her destination.

She was near the entrance to the small building that seemed to be the focal point of the patrols. Currently, there was only one man standing near the door, which illustrated the poor state of security. If they were protecting something valuable, they were doing a horrible job. Still, her curiosity was piqued and she figured it couldn’t hurt to find out what it was.

Phasma glanced around and noted no one else in the vicinity. She edged along the building, crept low and kept her eyes trained on the guard. Picking up a rock, she threw it over his head where he couldn’t see it. The rock clanked along a metal pole on the other side of the building.

The guard whipped his attention in the direction of the sound but didn’t even raise his blaster at the ready. While he stared at the area, trying to make out any movement, Phasma snuck up behind him. She grabbed him by the neck, squelching a gag from his throat, and pulled him inside the building with a swift motion. In under three seconds she had him inside the building with him standing in front of her as a human shield.

She shouldn’t have bothered going through the precautions. There was no one inside to fire upon her. It was a storage area, wide and open with various items stored in no particularly organized way, though there was one object that caught her interest. 

Phasma snapped the guard’s neck and dragged him behind a large crate. She then walked up to the massive cylinder laid upright in the middle of the room. Surrounding her were crates of blasters and ship components, but the ten foot bomb in front of her was most likely the reason for the security. It still had its First Order markings. The clan guarding it must have recently stolen it and was waiting for a buyer.

Phasma’s first thought was to alert Armitage of the bomb’s whereabouts. She actively pushed it out of her mind with a fair amount of effort. She hadn’t thought of Armitage in days. She wondered what he thought had happened to her.

No, not the time. Armitage was a galaxy away and this was not why she was here. 

It was easy enough to continue on towards the lab. There were enough footprints in the snow to cover her own tracks. She made it into the lab without being noticed and entered to find it just as quiet as the administration building. There was a main hallway that led to empty offices. These had been specifically stripped of all computers, datapads and anything else of value. Phasma wondered why until she came upon the last room where everything had been ordered.

Several datapads were separated from the rest, stacked conspicuously on the desk. She picked one up and noted that it was functional. Tapping into it revealed only one piece of data.

Nihydrazine

Dimethylomenzibenzene

Pentacholorine @ 12 degrees celsius

Hrucium-9

Fermented kilaclozatam…

The list went on. Phasma recognized they were chemicals though she had never heard of most of them. She picked up the next datapad, which had the exact same lone piece of data on it. Of the stack of seven, the datapads all had the same thing on it and nothing more. She placed one in her pocket.

She continued her exploration of the building, gaining access to the second floor. Every door was locked and made of a hard metal. The only way in were through bioscanners that were not operational. This setup seemed more like a prison than a lab.

The next floor was definitely where the science research was conducted. There were scopes, bio readers, chemical scanners and all manner of things inside white, clinical rooms. None of it seemed familiar to her. Nothing triggered her memories. If she hadn’t seen Brendol Hux’s name earlier, she would have thought she was in the wrong lab.

Rifling through the drawers yielded no results. There was nothing else to find and she grew frustrated by the diminishing prospects. As she looked in every place for a scrap of anything, her hopes began to dwindle.

She finally saw something that froze her in place. The name plate on the furthest office.

_ Dr. Pynn Barrik _

Phasma made her way inside to find it had been looted like the rest of the offices. She opened every drawer, looked inside every cabinet, searched under every piece of furniture, but nothing. It had all been scavenged. 

She stood in the middle of the office, trying to calm her anger. This manhunt was taxing her patience and it was made worse due to the lack of vitamins and the personal vendetta attached to it. The answer to Dr. Barrik’s whereabouts wasn’t here, nor did she think she would find it. There was nowhere else in the compound that seemed promising.

Phasma stalked out of the top floor lab and into the hallway with a careless grunt of disapproval. At this point she would have welcomed a flashback just to fill the dissatisfaction of having wasted her time.

She passed by a room, glancing in, and knew she should have been more careful for what she wished for. Her mouth dropped open at the sight of the table. She was immediately inundated into her waking dream. The clearest one yet.

 

_ The light on the door beeped green and all the children scattered. A pair of men wearing white scrubs came bursting through the door. _

_ “There,” one of them pointed to Phasma. “The little, blonde one.” _

_ They told her she was next and they kept their promise. The men knocked aside her friends, children from her planet, to get to her.  _

_ “No!” Siv shouted to them, shielding Phasma with her body. She received a hard slap for her courage. _

_ Everyone else either stood in the corners, too afraid to interfere, or got a beating. Phasma was the smallest and her attempts to defend herself were ineffective. _

_ The men grabbed her and carried her out to the hall, locking the door to the prison cell that held the fifteen other children behind them. The light to the door turned back to red. They took her through long hallways, a turbo lift and a sterile white laboratory. She fought them the entire way. _

_ “This one’s feisty,” one of them muttered as they entered a small room with a table that bore leather straps on the edges. They roughly laid her on the table and pulled the straps around her arms and legs, fastening her supine upon the cold, hard steel. Last was a strap that bound her head in a way where she was unable to move any part from her neck up. _

_ Phasma lay tense upon the table, hyperventilating through her nose as she stared at the men hatefully. Another man wearing a medical coat and carrying a datapad entered the room. _

_ “Subject number 17 from Parnassos,” the man said, mostly to himself. He barely looked up at her with his apathetic eyes. “I can’t imagine she’ll do but she deserves what she gets.” _

_ “Oh, she deserves it, Dr. Barrik,” one of the orderlies chuckled. “She’s the one that rammed the rod through your hand.” _

_ “Yes,” Dr. Barrik frowned up at the orderly. “I believe that is what was implied. Prepare the serum.” _

_ The orderlies went about their duties like they had done it hundreds of times before. Phasma could do nothing but watch. She was freezing in her small hospital gown, the only clothing she’d had for months inside the building. They had shaved her head her first day on the cold planet, like they did to all the children, and her hair was growing out so white that it gave her a halo effect. _

_ The orderlies readied large syringes filled with different liquids. Some were tinted blue, others green. The largest and scariest looking one was a harsh red. It was the needle that drew fear inside seven-year-old Phasma. It was as long as her forearm and as thick as a vine. _

_ “We’re ready,” one of the orderlies stated. _

_ “Good,” Dr. Barrik replied. “Let’s begin.” Snapping gloves on, Dr. Barrik sat on a stool and wheeled over to take a closer look at her while strapped to the operating table. He pulled out a round silver tablet from his pocket, which caused Phasma to flinch. _

_ “Now, now,” the doctor said, placing the flat part of the tablet against her heart, “this won’t hurt.” She slightly relaxed when there was nothing to it. Dr. Barrik picked up one of the blue syringes in his hand. “This, however…” _

_ She barely felt the needle as the liquid contents were pushed into the vein of her right arm. Not wanting to give them the satisfaction of seeing her scream, Phasma pursed her lips and squirmed as the liquid rushed through her blood like an icicle caught in the stream. The liquid seemed to melt with the warmth of her body and she slackened as the cold dissipated. _

_ “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Dr. Barrik said. Phasma didn’t respond. _

_ He picked up one of the green syringes. “This one’s a little different,” he remarked, reading into her mind. She hardly had time to register the needle piercing into the skin of her left arm when the wave of fire flowed through her like a flaming tornado. Phasma kicked against her restraints, her reedy arms shaking as the fire forced its way through her little body, generating a heat along her skin that scorched. It lasted longer than the ice, but it eventually burned out and Phasma could breathe again. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she wheezed. She was sweating all over. She had not screamed. _

_ Dr. Barrik picked up the red syringe. “This will make you strong,” he said as he directed the tip of the needle to her neck. She tensed, not realizing he would place it in so vulnerable an area. “Or, it will kill you.” _

_ The injection of the thick needle was nothing compared to the caustic nature of the serum. Immediately upon entry to her blood stream, the liquid sliced its way throughout her body. Phasma bunched her tiny fists and arched her back as the pain flooded inside like razor wire. Her heart pulsed in terror, barely withholding a burst once the serum reached it and stabbed with every part of its knife-like tendrils. Inside her legs and arms, it felt as though the acidic serum ate away at her muscle, making pockets to squeeze into and lodge its spikes. _

_ Phasma clamped back her screams long enough to feel her lungs threaten to collapse. Her body oscillated in waves of ice and fire, incessantly cycling faster and faster until they melded together like an icy inferno. It pulled at her, like every cell was being drawn and quartered until she felt a crack and a rush of cold ascended into her skull. It nestled into her brain like a burrowing rat, suddenly spiking out in shards of heat and ripping her conscious in two. _

_ Phasma screamed and screamed and screamed, and she never even knew. _

 

_ When she came to, she was still strapped to the table. _

_ “Ah, she’s awake,” Dr. Barrik said as he shined a light into her eyes. He reached for the blue syringe. “Again.”  _

 

_ When Phasma opened her eyes next, she was alone in a small, gray cell that was barely big enough to hold a child even her size. _

_ The first thing she did was reach up to the back of her head where a pounding pulsated with hard drums. She half expected to find a gaping hole there but everything seemed intact. Shivering, she crossed her arms and pressed her hands under her elbows and found she was sweating profusely. _

_ Looking around the room, she took stock of her inventory. A cot, a blanket, a small pail, presumably to do her business, and a rusty looking sink. There were scratch marks everywhere; along the walls, on the cot, all over the floors, but mostly at the door.  _

_ With slow and heavy steps, Phasma managed to pull herself up, every inch of her body screaming in anguish, and shuffled doubled over to the sink. She twisted the handle and thanked her god for supplying an endless supply of water to her. It tasted like rust and dirt but she drank straight from the tap like a dying camel until her legs were too tired to stand and they gave out on her. She slumped to the floor with the tap still running, shaking with cold, and sweating with fever. An image scratched into the wall just below the sink caught her eye. Rays of sunlight surrounding a name - Phasma - in her brother’s handwriting. Darkness swept over her.  _

 

_ Six days later, the blood in her veins seemed to swim unhindered. They had lost most of their spikes and though it was still discomforting to feel the residual pain, she was no longer in agony. Her fever had finally broken, as declared by an orderly who came in three times a day for a total of two minutes to switch out her pail, deliver an edible paste and record her vitals. _

_ Not an hour later, the same two orderlies from before entered her room. One look and Phasma panicked, fighting them as best as she could with her puny little kicks and punches. They carried her back into the lab and strapped her onto the table. Dr. Barrik made his entrance. _

_ “Subject 17 of Parnassos,” he drawled indifferently. “You survived.” _

_ Dr. Barrik placed the monitor over her heart. Phasma hated how her tears slipped down her cheeks as they prepared the syringes. In a surprising act of consideration, the doctor drew a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped them away. _

_ “If you survive once, you have a sixty-eight percent chance of surviving again,” he told her. She wasn’t sure if he was trying to offer her hope or crush her soul. The blue syringe was injected and the frozen lava slipped into her bloodstream. Green syringe; river of fire. Red; crucifixion. _

_ The last thing she remembered was cursing Phasma’s name at the top of her lungs. _

 

Phasma was so lost in her memory that she never even heard the grunts coming up behind her with raised blasters.

“You there!” one of them shouted, stirring her out of the flashback. “The fuck are you?”

“Drop the blaster and get your hands where I can see them,” another called out. Phasma remained motionless, mainly out of disorientation. Her vision had been so vivid, she practically relived the moment.

“I think he’s deaf or something,” Phasma heard one of them say softly to the other.

“Then why whisper if he can’t hear ya?” he replied.

While the two grunts argued about which one of them was going to get her attention, Phasma stood glaring at the table in growing rage. As a child, she had been kidnapped, taken from her planet, and brought here. In this compound was where she had been imprisoned. In this building was where she had mourned her brother. In this room was where she had been tortured. 

This was where she was made.

She felt a hand clap on her shoulder. Instinct kicked in. She grabbed the hand and squeezed, snapping the bones like twigs. The brute screamed out in horrified pain. Before the other one could respond, Phasma pointed her blaster behind her and fired, hitting him directly in the torso. She yanked the first man down to the floor and kicked her boot into his chest. He drew in breath for another scream but a plasma bolt to his face halted it.

She continued to stare at the table until she drew up the courage to walk in and smash it to pieces.

 

Phasma’s rage did not end there. It had hardly been cathartic to see the offending table crushed into a useless mass of garbage. This base represented all that was wrong with the galaxy. Children go missing, experimented on, robbed of their families and childhoods; she was twenty years too late but this base was destined for desolation.

Stealth mode was no longer necessary. She walked out of the laboratory and shot her blaster into the first man she saw. He had been manning the watchtower and he fell over the railing, lifeless, with no scream to accompany his plummet to earth. She expected others to come running at the sound, but after a brief moment, when she heard no one in pursuit, she shot at several metal barrels sitting near the building. She didn’t know what they had been filled with but it was something combustible. They ignited immediately, rocketing up into the sky with the force of the explosions. Seconds later Phasma heard running steps headed her way.

More militia men rounded the corner and Phasma head shot the four that didn’t take precaution. The rest huddled behind shelter while more guards came. Phasma spotted more barrels and started shooting. Some of them were close enough to ignite the buildings around them. Soon a sizable fire burned through the compound.

Any man who fired upon her was immediately met with a head shot and after a while none of the grunts bothered to try stopping her. Clan life didn’t pay enough for this kind of demise. Phasma pulled a large knife from her boot and approached them. They scattered like flies.

She ran after the closest one, his sprint no match for her long legs, and she grabbed him by his collar and sliced her knife through his neck. Blood colored the snow as she searched for more vengeance. By now, gunfire and was ringing out everywhere. Untrained and inexperienced, their shots went wild.

Phasma walked into the barracks and found six men hiding amid the bunks. They screamed as she goaded them into a fight but they were more interested in running away. She blocked their exit and forced them into battle but it was like a brawl between a Rancor and six Jawas. She killed them all in under a minute.

She went back outside but knew the rest were all hiding. _ Cowards _ . Phasma raised her comm and pinged Sami. “Come and get me on the landing pad.”

As she walked over to the pick up, Phasma shot all the barrels she could with a casual grace. The entire compound was on fire. The landing pad was set off from the base and Phasma found a bench to sit on while Sami steered the recon ship towards her. Sami landed the ship and waved her aboard.

“What are you waiting for?” Sami asked through the speaker with an edge of urgency in her voice.

Phasma sat motionless and did not respond. Sami was about to ask what was wrong with her when a massive explosion rocked through the center of the base. A cloud of black smoke and fire mushroomed up into the sky while the deafening boom shook the ship. Sami braced herself against her seat while the waves of the explosion rumbled through. Chunks of flying metal came crashing around the landing pad as well as several dead bodies. The waves finally dissipated and everything was still again.

Phasma rose up on her feet and walked into the recon ship.

“Let’s go.”


	14. Chapter 14

_ He lay on the floor. Blood pooled all around him. _

_ “This is what you’ve done,” he says, waving his scarred hand over at her brother. “This is all your fault.” _

Phasma wanted to scream but nothing came out. Her body tensed until she felt a hand on her head and someone slip in the bed behind her. Soft chanting whispered in her ear while arms circled her waist. Phasma slowly eased out of the dream and was swept up into the stillness of dark. Peaceful sleep finally came followed by dreams of silver sunshine and blue ocean.

When she woke up she was alone.

 

It was five thirty in the morning, standard wake time for a First Order soldier. Sami was in her own bunk, sleeping like a Wampa in the middle of the hibernation months. Phasma gazed in on her, unsure whether to wake her. On the trip to Raxus, she had noted that Sami kept officer’s hours. Awake at nine, in bed past midnight. 

The first few days after Sami and Maz had picked her up from the relay station, Sami had mirrored Phasma’s schedule until she trusted that Phasma would not sell them out. Now Sami’s guard had relaxed enough that she no longer kept tabs on Phasma, would store stray weapons around, and would sing loudly in the fresher. The latter was probably more out of comfort than general unwariness.

Looking in on the sleeping Sami, Phasma had an odd inclination to think how easy it would be to end her life right now. The perverseness of it came from having been on opposing sides as recently as a few weeks ago. It was different being regarded as a non-threat by this Resistance member who wouldn’t have had a chance against Phasma if they ever had to face off. The fact that Sami was not threatened by her anymore gave her the same feeling whenever Armitage stood by her side. Contentment maybe? She didn’t have the emotional maturity to know what it was she was feeling.

The thought of Armitage also drew up some feelings she wasn’t sure she could pinpoint, but she was fairly certain it was loss or sadness. The First Order did not encourage camaraderie and the vitamins subdued any affection so Phasma never had any real friends. Because her life was filled with training and routine, she would not have felt like anything was missing if it hadn’t been for Armitage. He gave her an alliance to draw from and she realized she missed him. In a way, she blamed him for her current mood. If he had not formed a companionship with her, she would not know the hurt of losing a friend. Still, he meant a lot to her and she would rather suffer than never have had his company.

Phasma glanced at Sami, still slumbering in her bunk, and wondered why she felt the same for her as she did Armitage. It wasn’t quite as strong yet; her feelings for Armitage had to fight through the effects of her vitamins and lifelong systematic conditioning. However, it took almost a year to feel comfortable around Armitage and this woman was unconsciously forming an attachment with her within a week. She thought perhaps it could be the dangers they had already shared together, or that Phasma was hoping to form another friendship to replace the one she had with Armitage, or the vitamins wearing off had opened her up to more emotional vulnerabilities. Maybe it was all of those reasons. Maybe none.

She knew this - Sami had comforted her when Phasma had been having a nightmare. For some reason Sami cared. Phasma didn’t know why but the thought brought a lump in her throat. She swallowed it down and left Sami to sleep.

 

A few hours later, Sami stretched and yawned as she entered the communal space, scratching just under her rib through her tank top while she tapped in a request into the food synthesizer. 

“Mornin’,” she said to Phasma. Phasma sat at the table with a cup of tea and some fruit paste that she learned recently tasted much better than the protein paste she was requisitioned most of her life. She nodded at Sami and gulped from her mug.

Sami brought her breakfast to the table and began eating it while reading something from her datapad. Phasma had very little experience in starting conversation but there was a nagging within her, determined to talk to Sami.  _ Getting to know her _ _._ She believed that was the term.

“You…” Phasma began, clearing her throat, “uh, you’re a child of a clone trooper then?”

Sami glanced at her from the corner of her eyes. She tried hard not to convey confusion at this sudden act of humanity, especially for how unfamiliar and uncomfortable it was to Phasma. “Yes. One of the few.”

“Ah.” Phasma seemed at a loss as to what to say next. Sami smirked and put her datapad to the side, keeping the conversation going for Phasma’s sake.

“Have you ever met a clone trooper before?”

“I’m afraid the First Order frowns on use of clones. I believe it has something to do with the expense and stagnant abilities. There is an inevitable limit for all troopers if they are made from the same genetic structure.”

Sami smiled in amusement at her candor. “Says the expensive supersoldier.”

Phasma looked down into her mug, silenced by humility.

“People don’t care much for clones,” Sami continued. “My father tried to run from the prejudice by fleeing to the outer rim and changing his name, though it was hard to keep it a secret because everyone knows the face of a clone. There were millions of them during the end of the Republic and throughout the Empire. They were sent to all regions of space. There was no hiding from the past.

“After the Empire fell, my father lost contact with all the other clone troopers in the chaos. I think he would have gone mad if he hadn’t met my mother. A few years later I was born but the discrimination extended to me and my father didn’t take to that very well.”

“What did he do?”

“He made the mistake of trying to fight the social injustice rather than ignore it. It landed him a few stints in jail. Not for too long, but it branded our family as hot headed and untrustworthy. Hardly a day would go by when people would call him some kind of name: inhuman garbage, Empire stooge, murderer…”

Phasma was taken aback. As a stormtrooper, people used to call her similar names on the dissident planets. She was especially targeted because she was trailed by a vid-droid and heralded as a model soldier. It had not affected her at the time because of the vitamins and the pride in her work.

“I hope you weren’t addressed with such contempt as well,” she said, hoping it sounded concerned. She was well aware her voice had the affectation of a robot.

“Me? There was a different set of names for kids like me,” Sami responded. “Half-clone, unnatural, spawn of evil…” She sat back in her chair with her focus directed on the ceiling, trying to remember all the names. Phasma reflected on all the things she had been called: Bucket head, First Order monkey, chrome criminal…

“Seems there are a lot of assholes in the galaxy,” Phasma replied. She had never used the term asshole before and everything about her was still stiff including posture and tone, but Sami took it for the genuine empathy Phasma was trying to convey.

“Indeed. My father moved us around a lot because he was convinced there was somewhere we belonged. Along the way he taught me how to fight and stand up for myself.”

“Did he find it?”

Sami shook her head. “Not that I’m aware of. The Resistance is the closest he came but there’s still discrimination among the members. After all, the Resistance did rise from the Rebellion, which the clone troopers tried to quash.”

“What happened to him?”

“I don’t know,” Sami said quietly. “Still trying to figure that out. Last thing I heard he had found out about a colony of clone troopers somewhere in the outer rim and went looking for it. He never came back. That was five years ago.”

“That’s why you wanted the clone trooper docs on Bestine base…” Phasma noted.

“There’s little to go on but I found something of interest in the information you retrieved. I’ll look into it as soon as we part ways.”

An unexpected feeling like a hit to the gut caused Phasma to pause in her surprise. The thought of losing another companion had come at her like a hard blow.

“Are you all right?” Sami asked with raised brow.

“Fine.” Phasma had no way of explaining to Sami or to herself why she suddenly felt she needed distance. Luckily an alarm drew Sami’s attention away from her and onto the holo-pad communicator. Maz’s orange face filled up most of the projection.

“What’s your ETA?” Maz asked.

“Should be there in about four hours,” Sami informed her.

“Change of plans. Meet me on Kiffex, at the Resistance base.”

Phasma couldn’t resist pointing out the obvious. “I cannot stress how unwise it is to let a former First Order Captain know there is a Resistance base on Kiffex.” 

“Oh, can it, Phasma,” Maz dismissed. “You’re not First Order anymore. By the way, does anyone aside from us know what you look like?”

“No one but Armitage Hux.”

“Good. See you soon.”

Maz’s image flickered out and Sami put away her holo-pad. “She seems excited about something, which actually isn’t a good sign.”

 

Phasma stared out the window as the ship jumped out of hyper-space. She’d never been to Kiffex and knew very little about it except that the inhabitants there were mostly human looking. The planet itself was small and unremarkable.

Sami flew the recon ship towards a base in one of the forests. Phasma was hesitant to step off the ship until she noticed all the Resistance soldiers sitting around with carefree attitudes.

“What’s wrong with them?” Phasma asked Sami.

“Hmm?” Sami looked, sensing nothing amiss.

“Is everyone sick? Why is no one working?”

“Oh, the Resistance isn’t like the First Order. People actually have off hours, you know.”

“Off _hours_?” Phasma asked incredulously. “Everyone at once?”

Sami shrugged and led Phasma towards a small building that seemed to be reserved for officers. Maz greeted them at the entrance.

“Good, you’re here.” She waved them into a room and pointed to a man wearing a major’s emblem. “This is Granius. He’s the one who commissioned us to retrieve the star maps on Bestine base.”

“You’re the ones who offered,” he replied. “Is this your team of infiltrators?”

“Sami Wolffe,” Sami stated to him. “I’m the pilot.”

“So Maz has told me.” He said indifferently then glanced up at Phasma with a double take. “You’re a…tall one.” By the shape of his mouth, Phasma could tell he had almost said ‘woman’ before replacing it with ‘tall.’

“This is Brie,” Maz told him. “She’s the heavy.”

“I have no doubt,” Granius muttered as he looked her up and down. His neck craned back as he stared at her face.

Maz smacked him in the gut with the back of her hand, causing him to flinch his attention to her. “Like I said, we need to use your database. This is not Resistance related.”

“And like I said, I need to know why you need the database.”

“For Kriff’s sake,” Maz remarked impatiently as she fumbled for her comm. “I can’t believe I have to go over your head for this.”

“You’re not a Resistance member!” Granius retorted. “I don’t know why you would think you could just waltz in this base and demand to use our computers.”

“I’m a Resistance member…” Sami answered non-confrontationally. Granius simply gave her an uneasy glance which Phasma interpreted as distrust. By then Maz had contacted the person she had called.

“Maz, if this has something to do with your boyfriend, he went to Kashyyyk to give Han and Luke a proper mourning,” came the voice of an older woman from the comm.

“For once this is not about Chewbacca,” Maz returned. “I need to use the database on Kriffex but your lackey Major is being a killjoy.”

“Why do you need the database?” the woman asked.

“I’m on a personal quest. It’s very hush-hush.”

“General, I told her it was no use coming in here and asking for something so absurd!” Granius shouted to the comm in an attempt to be heard.

There was a long drawn out sigh from the woman followed by a silent pause till finally an answer. “Give Maz access to the database.”

“What?” Granius asked after affixing his jaw from off the floor.

“You heard me, Major. Give her the information she seeks and some privacy. Don’t take all day, Maz!”

“You got it, General,” Maz chuckled.

“Try to stay out of trouble. I’m too busy these days to save your ass.”

“I know,” Maz stated before softening her voice. “And, Leia…I’m sorry for your losses. Han, Luke, Ben…all of them.”

“Thank you. May the Force be with you.”

“May the Force be with you as well.”

Maz signed off and looked to the Major. “Now, if you would please direct us to a private room where we can conduct our business.”

Granius gave her a disdainful glare and pointed to a door. “In there. You might have General Organa’s trust but not mine. I’m watching you, pirate. And that goes for your clone and…” he looked at Phasma but thought better of commenting on the giantess with the muscular look and aesthetically pleasing features. “I’m watching you all.”

When they were safely behind closed doors, Maz went straight to the database while Sami groaned out in frustration.

“How did that guy know my father is a clone? Did you tell him that, Maz?”

“No, why would I even mention that?”

“Well, he knows somehow. Doesn’t even matter now. I guess I can cross this base off my list.”

“What list?” Phasma asked.

“This is not the first base that has indicated they’ll never let me be a pilot in an X-wing squadron. Some people really don’t trust clones.”

“That’s not very fair.”

“Eh,” Sami brushed the thought away with a wave of her hand. “Just gotta keep looking. Someone will notice my loyalty eventually.” While her determination and positive outlook was endearing, Phasma couldn’t help but think it was misplaced.

Maz was at the database, typing away. “Give me that list of chemicals you found.” Phasma pulled the datapad out of her cargo pants and handed it to Maz. She adjusted her goggles as she focused her ancient eyes on the ingredients listed.

“Luckily, I’ve never even heard of some these.”

“Luckily?” Sami questioned.

“It means they’re rare,” Maz winked and began inputting the chemicals into the database. Sami and Phasma glanced at each other and gave a little shrug in unison. It hardly took a moment before Maz retrieved a list of vendors which she saved onto her own datapad.

“These are the vendors in the galaxy who could supply these chemicals. Best we can do is track the rare ones and see who’s buying.”

“Who would be buying them?” Sami asked.

“Whoever bought this list of ingredients to make a super soldier serum, of course.”

“Hold on!” Phasma suddenly tensed as she thought about the implications. “You’re telling me that there are other labs out there making super soldiers?”

“You’re just now figuring this out?” Maz asked.

“You and me both…” Sami muttered, giving Phasma a shrug.

“Once they figured out what they had, the Kadall clan has been selling the super soldier serum around,” Maz told them. “I don’t know to who though.”

“So that’s why we’re here?” Sami perceived. “To figure out where Barrik is by following the chemical trail?”

“We might find Barrik this way. Hopefully he hasn’t moved on to more nefarious experiments. Regardless, we need to stop those who were enticed enough to not only buy the serum recipe but to actually conduct their own operations.”

“Oh, I’ll stop them all right,” Phasma retorted, gritting her teeth and punching into her fist. “Maybe one of them is employing Barrik.”

“Possibly. I conferred with a friend who makes a living selling illegal substances,” Maz continued. “Since none of the chemicals on the list are illegal, he suggested finding out through the wholesalers. We’ll just give them a call and ask around.”

“You think they’re going to give us answers?” Phasma asked skeptically.

“I know someone who’s good at getting people to open up,” Maz smiled, glancing to Sami. Phasma looked over to her in confusion. Sami neither confirmed nor denied but she had a smug smile crossing her lips. 

“Can’t help think this seems like something that could have been done at your hideout,” Phasma commented with a note of suspicion towards Maz.

“It’s much faster through the Resistance database.”

“Perhaps, but I would think continued ambiguity would be the best course of action. Now the Resistance knows we’re investigating something and you’ve just shown my face to many of them.”

“I assure you Captain, I am not trying to give you to the Resistance. If I was, you’d already have been captured.”

“At this point I doubt that’s what you have in mind, not that I could be captured by this lot,” Phasma responded. “But there’s a reason you brought me here and I want to know why.”

Maz smiled, easily giving up the chase. “Let me show you.”

 

They walked outside just as a Resistance shuttle landed on the tarmac. The soldiers that had been previously lounging were now riled up like ants after someone had stepped in their ant pile.

By the reaction of the soldiers, whoever was on the shuttle was much more organized and threatening than Major Granius could ever be. Undoubtedly, the soldiers were never caught slouching under the orders of the incoming officer.

The plank lowered and a man stepped down. The straightness of his spine and rigidity of his march indicated he was military trained. Phasma gasped and reflexively tightened her fists. Maz had been waiting for her reaction, pleased when she got one.

“He goes by the name Brendol Red. He’s a BRI, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” Phasma replied through gritted teeth. The will to grab the closest blaster and shoot him through the skull was strong enough to cause her hands to shake. “But I once knew him as Captain Cardinal.”

Maz scooted the blaster laying nearby out of reach. “He came to the Resistance about two years ago. He was injured to the point of being close to death. With medical intervention, he recovered and has been a crucial Resistance member ever since. You’ll find most people here to have a strong motivator to fight against the First Order, but none more than Brendol Red. He says he was framed for his father’s murder by a top First Order officer.”

“Brendol Hux was _ not  _ his father,” Phasma seethed. Cardinal was still blind to the fact that not only was Brendol hardly a model father to Cardinal, but was most certainly a terrible one to his actual son. Something about his new moniker felt incredibly disrespectful to Armitage. Her anger began to force it’s way into action. She glanced over at the blaster Maz had tried to surreptitiously hide.

“Don’t do it, Phasma,” Maz warned. She put her hand to Phasma’s head but Phasma smacked it away.

“I know what you’re doing,” Phasma replied in irritation. “I’ve let you both use the Force to soothe my nightmares but let me have my rage this time.” Maz looked confusedly at Sami who glanced up in the air in guilt. “Besides, he probably thinks I’m dead and I’d rather hunt him down later without his guard raised.”

“From what I hear, he’s been in a pretty foul mood since the  _ Supremacy _ was destroyed,” Maz told her. “I’m assuming it was not so much the ship but the news of your death that has him down.”

“No doubt because he wasn’t the one to kill me.”

“Exactly.”

Cardinal was walking with a group of soldiers when he looked their way. His dark eyes locked onto Phasma’s blue ones and he flinched in surprise. It caused Phasma to wonder if he knew what she looked like but there was no possible way. He certainly hadn’t when they fought in the training room and she had never revealed her face to him at any point. It would be impossible for him to find out after abandoning the First Order.

Cardinal stopped in his tracks and stared at Phasma with a fair degree of interest. He was too far away to make any light conversation but everyone surrounding them could tell he was itching to go scrutinize her.

“Just look away, dammit,” Maz harshly whispered to her under her breath. Phasma huffed out and forced herself to glance down. A moment later Cardinal resumed walking with his soldiers. Once they were out of sight, both Maz and Sami sighed out in relief.

“Let’s get out of here before he decides he wants to spar with the big, blonde woman who looks like she could rip a rancor in two.” Maz hustled them to the recon ship. While boarding the ship, Phasma recalled that Maz and Sami still did not know of her keen hearing.

“Why does she think you’re Force sensitive?” Phasma overheard Maz whisper to Sami.

“She seems distressed in her sleep. I thought I’d try your method. I was just trying to help and didn’t know she was aware I was doing it. I thought she was asleep.”

“You be careful with her. Emotionally, she’s as inexperienced as a teenager. You don’t want to find yourself the target of any strong feelings.” Maz scurried up the ramp and into the break room, leaving Sami alone with her thoughts.

“Don’t I?” she muttered to herself.


	15. Chapter 15

The fifth moon of Parrium was rich in resources but low on morality. This normally happened with societies trudging through decades of war.

In the space lab orbiting the moon, a blip on the radar hailed the commanding officer’s attention.

“Sir, small incoming vessel,” the petty officer alerted.

“How small?” the commander inquired.

“No bigger than a mining transport.”

“Hail it.”

“I did, sir. No response.”

“Are we expecting any prisoners today?”

“None, sir. It’s coming in quite fast, sir.”

“Hail it again. See if it’ll respond to threats this time.”

“Sir, I don’t believe there’s time for th-…”

With a deafening clang, the vessels impact caused the space lab to lurch off it’s orbit. Every crew member was knocked off balance and on the floor, looking around in confusion by the rumble that forced it’s way through the station. The alarms for red alert blared in every corner. 

“Report!” the commander shouted as soon as he was able.

“We’ve been hit, sir!”

“I know that!” the commander chastised. “Give me the damage report!”

“Breach on deck eight, sir.”

“Raise the shields. Open a channel to deck eight.” The commander waited precisely two seconds before getting the go ahead. “Deck eight! Lieutenant, come in!”

The only thing that came through was screaming.

  
  


Deck eight had been a quiet area up until the point a deafening screech pierced the air aligned with a thunderous rocking while a mining ship with reinforced plating penetrated through the hull. Crew members surrounding the area met their demise either by impact or being sucked out into the vacuum of space.

Once the shields locked the air inside the breached area, those still alive to witness it found themselves in danger of a new threat. Incredulously, a soldier covered from head to toe in armor jumped out of the shell of the mining ship and onto the floor of deck eight with a grand leap resembling that of a graceful polar Hoth tiger. Four guards escorting twelve prisoners stood stock still, not knowing who this person was and if this could be a jailbreak. There was a short silence while they assessed one another. The soldier soon spoke though it was through a vocoder that altered his voice. It came out heavy and robotic, making his words all the more difficult to understand.

“What exactly did you think I was going to do with it when I stole it?”

The guards and prisoners looked at one another in perplexity, still unsure what to make of him or what he said.

“Of course I’m fine. I planned this,” he continued.

One of the guards mustered the courage to call out to him.

“Uh, are you…are you talking to us?”

The soldier held up one finger for silence and held his other hand to his ear.

“We’ll talk about this later. Right now I’m staring at approximately 15 people.” He pulled out a large knife from his belt. “None of them worth salvaging.”

The guards raised their blasters and began firing. The soldier sprang into action, throwing his knife towards them and piercing the nearest guard in the throat. 

Phasma had the benefit of knowing that these guards were inept marksmen and barely one step above the morals of the prisoners they oversaw. There was no one worth saving here. She had checked.

Behind the guards, the prisoners found their chance to make an escape. The rumors that hardly anyone survived the experiments conducted in this specific lab had reached everyone and they were all eager to escape either the pain of the serum or the death that followed. Phasma didn’t have to worry about the guards once the prisoners began their own onslaught. The problem was that early on it was noticed by the prisoners that Phasma was not on their side. With her own agenda unclear, she was targeted as equally as the guards.

Moving through the station took some time. Phasma couldn’t run more than thirty feet down a hall before encountering either guards shooting at her with their blasters or mobs of prisoners wanting her weapons. Her skill set alone was enough to defeat everyone in her path but how she wished she had her silverstaff to cut through them faster.

“What’d you say?” she heard Sami say in her ear. Phasma hadn’t realized she had said it aloud. “What silverstaff?”

“Nothing,” Phasma replied as she shoved her boot into the face of one man and socked her fist into another.

The plan had been to breach deck ten, but maneuvering the mining ship at the speed she maintained made it near impossible to succeed. She was lucky to have only been two decks off. With Sami guiding her through the space lab, Phasma made it to deck ten soon enough.

She sailed through the door, shooting the nearest guards while the lab techs and scientists took cover. Phasma herded the staff through the lab until she was certain they were all accounted for. They ended up in the last room which caged four wild looking men, clearly the ‘successes’ of the experimentation. They were not as tall as Phasma but muscled out like farm cattle. They seemed to have the brain power of bulls, pacing their cages and huffing out their noses. They all wore collars, further exemplifying their animal status.

Phasma grabbed the nearest person in a lab coat and pulled him up so they were eye-to-eye.

“Where’s Barrik?” she demanded. By the look in his frightened eyes, the scientist had no idea who she was talking about. “Where’s the director of the lab?” His arm shot out and pointed to a woman slumped on the ground looking nervous as hell. After being identified, she groaned in exasperation.

Phasma threw the man down and waved her blaster over to the corner. “Everyone huddle there!” she demanded. All the scientists scuttled past her, including the director who Phasma grabbed by the arm before she could get by. She didn’t have to make much of a threat to get the director to talk.

“I know nothing about a man named Barrik,” the director immediately remarked, not even waiting for the interrogation to begin. Phasma thrust an accusing finger in her face.

“You’re making super soldiers with the serum he developed.”

“Okay, yes, I know that much about him, but that’s all. I’ve never met him and we simply bought the serum formula from a clan that proved they had it. If you’re looking for him, you won’t find him here so there’s no reason to hurt us.”

“So you admit you’re making super soldiers.”

“Well,” the director huffed,” it’s not like we’re experimenting on children. These criminals are the worst of the worst. We’re not below humanity here. They’re given a choice; death or valor. Naturally they’d rather become super soldiers than dust.”

“Something tells me they’re not told about the pain of the treatments nor the survival rate.”

“We need specimens to perfect the serum,” she said in defense. “Where else are we supposed to get our lab rats?”

_ Subject 17 of Parnassos _

That was all she was for years before she received her codename BRI-3. Nothing more than a lab rat.

Phasma struck the director across the cheek, the slap resonating loudly through the lab.

“You’ll regret that,” the director said as she defiantly glared up at Phasma with her hand covering the swelling of her cheek. It wasn’t until then that Phasma noticed the controller in the director’s other hand. Phasma knocked it out of her palm but not before the director pressed a button firmly with her thumb. 

Immediately an alarm whined out three times until the doors of the cages opened out. The four large brutes with brains of cattle did as they were naturally want to do; they charged.

Phasma had the perception to note the scientists all scrambling behind her, racing each other out the door on the other side of the room. The director dipped down and took up the controller from off the floor before scurrying away.

Phasma shot at one of the brutes with her blaster and was shocked to find it hardly had any effect. There was some kind of plasma shield protecting him, probably emanating from the collar. It would be unwise to engage in combat with the super soldiers without first assessing their skills, so Phasma did what any other intelligent warrior would do. She ran.

The door to the cage room was closing from the other side. Once locked, it would be impossible to get through and currently it was inches away from slamming shut. Phasma sprinted towards it then barreled her shoulder into the door just before it clicked shut. Her speed caused the door to slam open and the director, in her surprise, yelped loudly while turning to flee. She took up refuge with the rest of the staff behind some large desks.

The four brutes charged out of the cage room and into the lab, grunting madly and looking for blood.

“Kill him!” the director yelled to the super soldiers, pointing at Phasma. “Tear him to pieces!”

Phasma thought she could probably take out one of them on her own, two if backed into a corner. Four was going to take some tactical strategy. Again, thoughts of her silverstaff came to mind.

In her ear, Sami was screaming for her to run.

Phasma did run; in the direction of the charging men. As soon as they were set to collide, Phasma jumped up and grabbed the light fixture hanging on the ceiling. The brutes charged past, running through desks, causing lab equipment and materials to go flying every which way. Phasma pulled out her knife and threw it into the back of one of the men. It lodged just under his scapula and he roared in pain. That was the good thing about plasma shields. They couldn’t protect against non-plasma based projectiles.

“Turn around!” the director screamed. “Get him! Get him!”

The brutes did as they were told. They charged again, this time Phasma was able to leap over them and grab the knife of the wounded one’s back. Blood began spurting out of the incision. At least they couldn’t adapt.

“No, you fucking idiots!” the director kept shouting. “Not all at once! First Rancor, then Wampa, then Bantha, then Rathtar! Go!” Phasma felt enraged that they had been given animal names, further dehumanizing them.

The plan proved to be a decent strategy. Phasma managed to evade the first two men but was caught by the third charge, getting struck fully by the brute and finding herself thrown across the room. Her back hit the wall and she went sliding down to the floor with a groan. They took advantage of their position with her off guard.

It turned into an all out brawl. Phasma was much more skilled but she could hardly fight her way out when attacked by four enhanced criminals. She managed to get a few good knocks in but not without stopping a fist with her face. A punch to her gut caused her to double over but she found her head under the jaw of one man and she suddenly stood tall. His mandible was shoved upward hard enough for it to crack. He tried to scream but blood pulsed out his mouth, muting his cries.

“What are you doing, Wampa?” the director screamed. “Kill him, now!” Wampa held his jaw in his burly hand and faced her with murder in his eyes. She immediately backtracked, pointing the controller at him. “Look at me like that again and you’ll get the sting.”

Despite still warding off the other three beasts, Phasma managed to catch the exchange. With a quick dodge to their swipes, she ducked out of the brawl and ran towards the scientists still huddled behind the desks of the lab. They all scattered by the incoming fight. Phasma grabbed the director by her collar and yanked the controller out of her hand.

“What does this do?” Phasma asked, simultaneously hitting the largest of the buttons.

“No!” the director screamed. Wampa began to convulse, his hands clawing at his collar while blue streaks of lightning emanated from it.

“Hardly a sting,” Phasma replied as she pressed more buttons. Just as the other three caught up to her, she shocked them, all the super soldiers now writhing in twisted fetal states on the floor.

“Stop it!” the director yelled at her as she made a grab for the controller. “You’ll kill them!” Phasma held the controller high in the air, her other hand on the director’s forehead holding her back.

“Like you said, they’re just criminal lab rats.” Phasma made sure the collars’ plasma shields were no longer active. She pointed her pistol and head shot each one, ending their suffering.

“Monster!” the director screeched. “Don’t think this will stop us! Your eventual defeat will come soon enough and all of Parrium V will be under the control of the king once again!”

“Exactly who do you think I am?”

The director blinked. “Obviously an assassin from the allied north sent to destroy the super soldiers of our kingdom.”

“I have nothing to do with those you’re at war with.”

“Then who are you?”

Phasma leaned in close, her helmet nearly touching the director’s nose. “A former lab rat.”

The director’s eyes went wide. “You’re one of Barrik’s! That’s why you’re looking for him. You’re trying to destroy his wor-…”

Phasma, tired of conversation, snapped the director’s neck. By now all the other scientists had fled. It didn’t matter. The bomb would find them.

 

Phasma went down to engineering and affixed the thermal reactor to the plasma relay in the engineering room. Bodies of the dead engineers and security officers were strewn all about the deck.

“I’ve set the bomb and dismantled the space lab’s shields and cannons,” Phasma said into her comm. “Pick me up on the upper docking pylon.”

“Roger,” Sami confirmed. A ring near the turbolift indicated someone was coming. Phasma hunched down and watched as the doors opened and one of the scientists, face full of terror and determination, stepped off and scanned all around the area. Each body his eyes lit on made him more jittery.

Phasma, curious by this person who was clearly doing something he was scared to do, in an area he was probably unfamiliar with, decided not to shoot him on sight. She inched out with her blaster raised.

“Stop right there,” she told him. Upon hearing her voice, the scientist jumped so high in fear that he nearly tripped over his own legs. If Phasma was of a humorous disposition, she might have laughed. The scientist frantically fumbled for something in his pocket and drew out a small cylinder, which Phasma eyed curiously. She was giving thought to shooting him when the scientist made a dramatic swing of his arm, throwing the small cylinder at her. Phasma had the sense to evade it, throwing herself to the ground, but did not clear the blast radius of the tiny bomb. What was inside it was not incendiary, but rather biological. Her mask did not have a filter strong enough to keep the spores from penetrating through it.

Phasma felt her nose first begin to burn, followed by her throat and then her lungs. With a gasping noise, she clutched at her throat, feeling her mucus membranes begin to swell, blocking her airway.

The scientist fumbled for another dose but Phasma didn’t need much air to focus her shot on his head and kill him in less than a second. She was up and running for the dock in the upper pylon before she knew it.

Along the way she encountered more security who had anticipated her need to escape. Normally she would have been able to barge her way through their strongholds in no time but with her brain losing oxygen, it was like fighting underwater. She was so much more skilled than they were that she blew through the barricades but not without getting struck several times by a few shots.

By the time Sami docked the recon ship and Phasma collapsed on board, it had been two long minutes of struggling to get the air into her lungs through rapidly swelling cells.

“Go!” Phasma croaked out, waving Sami away as the blonde lunged for the anti-inflammatory in the medical box. Sami briefly hesitated before turning back to the controls and launching the recon ship away from the space lab. Phasma grabbed the needle and jammed it in her collarbone. The medication instantly eased the swelling and she could breathe again though now the blaster wounds screamed in more pain.

Sami hit the detonator and the space lab exploded in colors of reds, golds and white. She jumped the ship into hyperdrive then set it to auto and hurried to Phasma’s side.

“What the hell happened?” she asked.

“Got caught by one of the scientist’s side projects, I suspect,” Phasma gasped, breathing in huge lungfuls of air. “He at least died knowing it worked.” They assessed her status and patched up the two blaster wounds and the massive amounts of internal contusions collected all over her body. She was more purple than white.

“In the bacta tank,” Sami commanded. “Six hours.” Phasma, not one to defy orders, did as she was told.

 

_ “Archex!” _

_ She jostled the sleeping boy but he wouldn’t wake. He was still breathing so at least he was still alive. “Archex, wake up!” A hard shake and a pull on his black hair finally caused him to stir long enough to open his dark eyes. _

_ “Who…?” _

_ “Archex, are you okay?” _

_ The boy didn’t speak for a long time. _

_ “Who is Archex?” _

 

Phasma opened her eyes but she could only see through the hazy thickness of the bacta gel. Her dream pulled away from her, fading out. Another memory. They were becoming more frequent and detailed. The boy was not her brother but certainly seemed familiar. Phasma didn’t know how long she’d been in the bacta tank but she figured it was long enough and swam to the opening at the top.

As she washed the gel off and toweled dry, she thought about Archex. Who was he? The dream had not disturbed her like other ones had but there was a disquieting resonance that affected her mood.

It occurred to her that Kylo Ren had wrenched out the first memories with his subconscious power of the Force, but once unlocked they now came at any time. Maz had managed to stop the violent flow of dark dreams and allow for more peaceful ones to filter through. It took time and effort but Phasma was learning to focus on them and let them become unrepressed memories again. The nightmares were edging away.

She wondered how Sami, who she learned was not Force sensitive, was able to soothe her nightmares when they came. It must have something to do with the chant. It seemed her proximity also might soothe Phasma enough to ward off the more violent dreams she’d had previously.

Her thoughts of Sami turned more personal. She felt safe with Sami, which was odd because why should she feel unsafe and why did it take someone six inches shorter and almost a hundred pounds lighter to make her feel more secure than she had been with the First Order?

“I was just coming to get you.” Phasma looked over to see Sami at the door of the medical chamber. She was leaned up against the door frame with a smile that caused Phasma’s heart to pace quicker. “There’s a message from Maz. C’mon.”

  
  


In the rec room, a light on the relay station indicated an incoming message. Sami pressed the receive button and Maz appeared on the holoprojector.

“How did the infiltration of Parrium V go?” Maz asked.

“It went well,” Phasma answered.

“There was one snag,” Sami replied, giving Phasma a side glance of irritation. “Phasma almost got killed.”

“I do not recall such an occurrence.”

“So you don’t remember almost choking to death?”

“I will admit I was caught off guard but at no point was I close to death.”

“Regardless,” Sami rolled her eyes, “we’re on our way to the Keth lab, however I doubt that’s why you called.”

“I have bad news,” Maz nodded. “The First Order attacked Kiffex and the base has been wiped out,” Maz told them.

“On my honor, I swear that-…” Phasma quickly began stating before Maz cut her off.

“I know it wasn’t you that gave away their position, Phasma,” Maz reassured. “Seems Major Granius was less than reliable.”

“What about Cardinal?” Phasma asked. “Was he there during the attack?”

“No. Cardinal was seen talking to Granius shortly after we left. He took off in a Resistance shuttle and hasn’t been seen since.”

Phasma thought on it. What could Granius have told him that would cause Cardinal to suddenly leave? Could it have been related to their visit to Kiffex? It seemed unlikely considering Granius didn’t know why they had been there nor did it seem possible that he could have made the connection that she was Captain Phasma.

“Were there any survivors?” Sami asked.

“I’m afraid not. The Resistance forces have been almost entirely annihilated. All that’s left are the few remaining bases and General Organa with her crew aboard the Millennium Falcon.”

Sami grew pale. “What do we do?”

“I’m going to rendezvous with General Organa as soon as they find a place to converge everyone. You can find out for yourself then.”

“All right. Keep me informed.” Sami signed off with her head lowered practically to her chest.

Phasma was still focused on her thoughts about Cardinal but had the insight to at least note Sami’s mood. “Are you all right?”

“No,” Sami responded. “The Resistance can’t afford to lose anymore. Soon there will be nothing left.” This news hardly gave Phasma any sorrow, after all she still felt like she was part of the First Order, though she cared for Sami and didn’t like to witness her unhappy. She also knew enough not to give any reason for her to think she was glad of the news.

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you?”

Phasma hesitated. “I’m sorry that you found a place for yourself and it was taken from you.”

Sami sighed out in shame. “Actually, I’m not really sure I belonged there either so no reason to be upset over it.” Phasma had nothing to say about that but couldn’t anyway once Sami hurried out of the room.

 

If there was one thing Phasma was not used to doing, it was simply sitting down to think. Luckily there was an exercise module that allowed Phasma to work out while her thoughts raced. Every thought was about Sami. She certainly knew what it was like to be different from the rest but she had been more accepted since no one really knew she was biologically enhanced. Sami had to face discrimination every day of her life. Phasma had never felt the urge to make someone feel better, in fact she was usually the reason why someone was in pain, but her need to comfort Sami was greater than her uneasiness of the idea.

Before she could change her mind, Phasma found herself setting down her weights and sneaking down the hall to Sami’s room. When she peeked in she noted that Sami was on her bed, facing the wall, though her shoulders shook quietly like she was not asleep. It occurred to Phasma she might be crying.

And now Phasma really didn’t know what to do. She had no experience in consoling anyone and had no idea what to do, but the longing to let Sami know she cared was stronger than ever. If she were Maz she might have been able to use the Force to dull the intensity, but she’d also recently come to realize that feelings, no matter how sharp, tended to be humanizing, usually after the fact. Vitamins had made her little more than a robot and to wish Sami the same stagnancy to her emotions was like wanting someone to become a droid.

She was back to not knowing what to do. What would Sami do? She would probably use the same technique she used to soothe Phasma’s nightmares, however Phasma couldn’t use that trick because she wasn’t force sensitive. But then again, neither was Sami.

Phasma walked into the room, hearing Sami’s quiet sobs the closer she got. Silently she slipped in the bed behind Sami and wrapped her arms around her stomach. Sami immediately tightened her hold on Phasma, hugging her arms to her. Phasma was so much taller that Sami’s legs came only to Phasma’s knees. Sami holding Phasma from behind must have felt like being a human backpack. 

Phasma didn’t know the chant and she wasn’t entirely sure Sami actually used the same one as Maz, so with great trepidation, Phasma began to hum. It felt odd as she had never hummed before in her life, but after a moment it became natural to her and Sami seemed to melt into her until all Phasma could hear was soft breathing. Phasma checked to make sure Sami was asleep before falling into her own dream.

 

_ “Care for some?” _

_ Armitage offers a tumbler of alcohol to her. _

_ “Is this your way of finding out my appearance, sir?” Phasma asks. It is short and concisely stated, not at all in offense. _

_ “Perhaps I have been a tad curious.” He sets the tumbler down on his desk. She has been his captain for nearly a year and he never once forced her to reveal her face to him, unlike previous commanders before him. Her armor confirmed her existence as the greatest soldier the First Order had to offer. Without it, or the anonymity that came with it, she would feel too exposed. _

_ However, she did just kill his father a week ago. And he did just save her from imprisonment for murder… _

_ Phasma slowly pulls her helmet off and takes up the tumbler. Armitage tries not to look surprised by her features. _

_ “Not what you expected, sir?” she questions. _

_ “There were no expectations to meet,” he responds, raising his own glass. “To allies.” _

_ “To allies, sir,” Phasma smiles as their tumblers meet with a clink. _


	16. Chapter 16

“I’m coming with you this time,” Sami said, trying to make the matter sound like a foregone conclusion.  They had next to no intel on this lab, and Phasma’s close call with the bioengineered spores at the previous one had left Sami’s emotions in an uproar.  She tried not to show her worries – Phasma would take that as an insult to her abilities – but she refused to sit idle this time. Having no actual arguments to marshal in her favor, she fell back on acting overconfident, often the best way to pull off an outrageous stunt.

Phasma quirked an eyebrow in surprise, then shrugged.  “Your choice. The ship should be safe without a guard since the lab is in such an isolated spot.”  Sami wouldn’t realize it, but Phasma’s willingness to allow her to come along showed a deep respect for her skills.  She’d never paired with anyone but a fully trained stormtrooper before, and yet deemed this random human qualified to watch her back.  Any of her trainees would have taken it as an honor.

They’d found this facility due to Sami tracking down and correlating purchasers of the rare chemicals involved in the creation of super-soldier serum.  Phasma expected that she’d use her network slicing skills to do so, but had been shocked and appalled by her actual methods. The most common techniques involved calling up a pharmaceutical salesman, adopting a ditsy Coruscant accent, and shameless flirting.

“(Giggle) Oh come on, Roshy, I know you can give me a better deal than that.  I was talking to my good friend Doc, from the new lab, and he said he got his Nihydrazine from you for 500 creds a kilo.  No, that’s what he said. He did! Doc. Well, I call him Doc. He’s got this nerdy vibe, but kinda cute, anyway… His lab?  It’s the new one. Do you know which I mean? Right! Sentinel-IV, the asteroid in sector 3, yeah? Oh, sector 9, of course.  I’d forgot my head if it wasn’t tied on. Yes, I will definitely come by for a drink next time I’m in the system and we’ll see what I can do to get that price down.”

It worked; that was the thing.  Phasma felt a bit disgusted by the easy manipulation of the human mind.  She found it upsetting that it was so trivially accomplished.  _ That _ was the problem, not the weird cold-water splashes of jealousy within her gut that she felt on witnessing it.

 

Phasma and Sami crept through the natural tunnels of the asteroid away from their ship’s camouflaged hiding spot. Occasionally Phasma employed her kyber powder to cut passages through the rock toward the area delved out for the secret lab.  The warlord of the Keth who’d set up shop here was depending largely on security through obscurity and isolation. He stationed no organic guards outside due to the lack of a breathable atmosphere. He seemed to have concluded that an assault could only originate from the docking bay.

Sami brought along her wrist-mounted computer fully loaded with her best slicing software.  Security cameras and surveillance droids found themselves defeated before the metaphorical battle could begin.  She hoped Phasma appreciated how much easier she was making their path rather than minding the lack of combat. Phasma was fully encased in her borrowed Tam Posla armor, however and probably had her game face on underneath the helmet.  She said nothing, but Sami thought she noticed a few pleased nods.

The facility was surprisingly clean, sterile, and standard lab-like inside for being located in the middle of nowhere.  The first several rooms featured nothing but microscopes, refrigerators, and cell lines growing in agar. Oh, and easily disposable scientists.  They were plainly underlings and would know nothing, so Phasma shot them where they stood. Most died with shocked looks on their faces. None attacked or even tried to sound an alarm.  The useless weaklings were no great loss, Phasma thought.

A bit further in, Sami encountered a security door set up like an airlock.  Breaking through the codes caused her to grunt in annoyance several times, but she finally got it open.  Phasma stepped inside first and found the room empty with only another secure door on the far side and a security camera.  She tried to say out of sight and gestured her findings to Sami. Sami signed back that the camera was a live feed, and the best they could do was get through the other door as quickly as possible and hope the monitors missed them.

After another expert slice, Phasma and Sami slipped into a darkened lab.  The door hissing open sounded as loud as a fire alarm to Phasma, now hyper-alert for danger.  The room contained a dozen hollow, glass-steel columns; about half of which contained a living humanoid.  The tubes were cruelly small, with only a water bottle hanging at the person’s head height and a drain in the floor.  They did not provide enough space to lie down or even sit comfortably. 

Phasma shone her light inside the nearest column for a closer look.  The being within followed the basic humanoid body plan – bilateral symmetry, four limbs, one head.  This one was male, thickly muscled with coarse black hair over much of his body. His eyes held little intelligence, but he had registered the women’s presence and tracked them closely.  

“He doesn’t look well,” Sami said.  She directed her light over some of the less hairy areas of his pale flesh.  His skin had a sallow coloring that she associated with liver dysfunction. The whites of his eyes would show it more clearly, but under the circumstances, shining a light in his eyes may cause a commotion.  She saw scars and rents in the skin of his legs. “What do you think happened to him?”

“His muscles developed too rapidly for his skin to accommodate the strain,” Phasma replied.  “I’ve seen similar results before, though never to this extent. He’s forced to stand to keep him from doing further damage to himself.”

“Oh.  So the experiments you… I mean, you remember… This is what you went through.  I had no idea.” Sami tried to keep from showing too much pity or Phasma would shut her out.  But by all that is merciful, how could she even be halfway sane after enduring this?

Phasma looked troubled.  “No, this isn’t right. They trained us, even early on.  Taught us math, reading, combat skills. We socialized when we were out of treatment.  The serums sometimes made the muscles so strong and tough that they’d break bones if you moved wrong, and most of us had some stretch marks, but I’ve never seen them burst through the skin before.  And, assuming he started as something close to human, his intelligence has dimmed to the point that he couldn’t be an effective soldier.”

Suddenly, the man in the tube banged his large hands on the glass-steel plate right where Phasma was looking.  She jumped back, causing him to let out a vicious hoot of satisfaction. His cruel expression showed that he’d gladly attempt to rip her face off were the barrier to drop.

“We should keep going,” Sami said.  “They’re getting restless.”

“Right.”  Phasma moved towards the door on the far side of the lab, but cast a glance into each tube she passed.  The twisted humanoids inside watched the two invaders with mean, suspicious eyes. Phasma judged that she’d be the victor in a fight even against all of them at once, but she’d rather avoid it, especially with Sami to protect.  These creatures had nothing left to lose and would surely fight like it. A kinder system of protocols would see such mistakes euthanized. Assuming, of course, that they were mistakes.

 

The next lab featured cages that were too small to contain humanoids.  That was a relief at first, until they heard the growling. Canines began to emerge from the from the shadows, twenty in all by Phasma’s quick count.  The nearest ones bashed their broad skulls against the steel bars of their cages, heedless of the pain. Phasma could see a correlation to the beings from the previous lab.  The canines were also mindlessly aggressive, over-muscled, and covered with raw sores. Many of them showed bite marks, presumably because they were not held in solitary isolation.  Phasma suspected there were at least a few dead animals in the rear of the cages who had come off the loser in their scuffles.

The intercom in the lab clicked to life.  “Well, well, I believe I have found what has my grunts in such an uproar.  Shame on you. They are a bother to get settled once they start to anticipate a fight.  I’ll let the dogs have first crack at you though. Saves me the trouble of feeding them this week.”

Phasma spun to look for cover, but the lab featured nothing but cages whose doors were even now clicking open to disgorge their eager occupants.  The mutts leapt out as if spring loaded. Several bounced off Phasma’s armor, landing with yelps and growls. Their teeth scrambled over the plating, seeking any seam or exposed skin on which to start their bloody work.  Phasma ignored them, focusing her attention on Sami. 

Two of the animals had hit Sami at chest height and borne her directly to the floor.  Her graceful agility had not been enough to dodge foes that gave no hesitation or warning before attack.  Her wrist-mounted computer was being chewed into sparking electronic shards as she desperately protected her face and neck.

Phasma swung her stun baton in a brutal killing arc that stove in the chest of the nearest canine on top of Sami.  It flew several meters through the air, landing in a heap stone-dead. She kicked at the second, but it showed no interest in abandoning its squishy prey for the more hard-shelled one.  Phasma had to squat down, rip the animal off Sami with one hand and pull her to her feet with the other. She threw the dog behind her by its hind legs, feeling a satisfying snap as one broke.  It did not seem to notice its injury, however, scrambling to three legs at once and growling all the harder.

“I wish you were as small as Maz.  You’d be safer on my shoulders,” Phasma said.  The animals had them encircled now, displaying some of the coordination of a wolf-pack.  She trusted her own skills and her armor, but she could do without the distraction of protecting the more vulnerable Sami.

“I don’t need your shoulders,” Sami replied, trying to hide her embarrassment with scorn.  “I just got surprised. Won’t happen again.” She bent her legs and leapt, first onto a cage and then higher, grabbing hold of a bank of hanging lights.  She flipped herself on top of the fixture. It creaked alarmingly but did not separate from the ceiling. She drew her blaster and lifted an eyebrow as if to say ‘try that in armor.’ 

In less than a second, Phasma rejoined the fight.  She spun, kicked, punched, clubbed, and generally waded through her foes, only remembering to draw her blaster when she noticed Sami’s shots felling some of the canines at her flank.  She’d always excelled at hand-to-hand combat. Highest marks. Undefeated record. Tacit approval of betting arrangements about how many foes she could take on at once. She wouldn’t say she enjoyed it before, however.  This time, undeniably, a broad smile spread under her mask, and she was disappointed when the last beast was reduced to a bloody pulp and could no longer put forth a challenge. 

She offered Sami a hand down from the ceiling, which she accepted though it was plainly unnecessary.  “Nice shooting,” Phasma said.

“Yeah, and nice, um…” Sami cast her gaze around the room, taking in all the battered and burned animals, the tang of blood in the air.  Wildfire seems to run through her veins. Phasma had been poetry in motion. If she hadn’t been wearing a helmet, there was no way Sami could have kept her lips off her.  “Kinda wish we didn’t know someone was watching,” she finished in a husky whisper.

“Now they know what we can do,” Phasma said.  She couldn’t quite decipher the undertones in Sami’s voice, but something about it was nearly as distracting as seeing her dragged to the floor.  Odd – she usually hated distractions, but this one was interesting. It required further examination.

 

“This is the only one worth trying.  They know we’re here. We need to evac soon,” Phasma said.  After losing the slicing computer in their fight with the dogs, they had to prioritize only the most likely areas for critical data storage.  Phasma’s sense of direction and internal mapping vectors guided them to a secure door. If she was correct, it would lead to the epicenter of the lab.  Sami engaged the lock with her emergency back-up old school equipment and vigorous cursing. It soon yielded to her assault.

The door clicked open and Phasma slipped through.  Plainly they had found an area of importance, but she didn’t see any computers.  A man stood in the center of the room, holding a heavy blaster in a two-handed grip.  He had the stance of someone experienced with weapons if not a formally trained soldier.  His clothing marked him as a Keth warlord. They were a small tribe, with a reputation for ambition and cunning.

The room was densely packed with glass-steel cages, each containing dozens of rodents.  Their furless grey bodies only emphasized their huge front teeth and bright pink eyes. They were scratching and gnawing at the fronts of their enclosures, agitated by the newcomers to their territory.  Oddly, there was no smell of rodent droppings. The beasts much have their own filtered air supply.

“So who sent you?  Meraxes from the Xamen?  The First Order? The Rebellion?  The formula is mine, and I’m in no mood to share.  March your asses on out of here, and I’ll only shoot you in the back once each.  You might live. Stay and you’ll definitely die.”

Phasma catalogued the ways she could disarm him before he could get a kill shot on either of them.  She felt she had some good options and mentally readied herself for the attack.

“One word from me and the cages open, just so you know,” he said.  He indicated his blaster. “This is by far my least threatening weapon.  These serum-treated rats are my ultimate success. See how we have to use the glass-steel cages with them?  Expensive, but they can chew through regular steel far too effectively. Even so we have to polish it special.  As soon as there’s a nick, they start chopping away at it. That armor of yours wouldn’t last a minute.”

Phasma had the unnerving sensation that he was telling the truth.  She decided to stall for time. “None of your experiments look particularly successful to me.  I think you were cheated on the formula.”

He scoffed with an arrogant curl of his lip.  “Nah, the first formula wasn’t very good is all.  It was too toxic; killed all the test subjects after a few doses.  Plus the Hrucium-9 is too hard to get if you don’t have First Order connections.  So we substituted Dimethylrucium-7. Works great with a lot less casualties! Not so much on humans, it’s true.  Makes ‘em too stupid to follow orders. The dogs turned out pretty good, but they get aggressive with each other between hunts.”

He grinned with pride and indicated the rats with a jerk of his chin.  “These babies though. We started with mole rats that are kind of hive-minded.  The serum makes ‘em strong and quick. With their teeth able to chew through steel, they should be great forces for sabotage, not to mention reducing a room full of enemies to gnawed skeletons within minutes.

“Do you want a demonstration or are you going to tell me who sent you?  It was Meraxes wasn’t it? That scheming bastard! I promise, getting blaster shot is a lot less painful than if I open these cages.”

Sami spoke up.  “He won’t do it.  They’d eat him too, and he knows it.  You can’t banthashit a banthashitter, Keth.  Put down the blaster, and let’s each go our separate ways.”

He sucked his lips, considering.  “All right. You tell Meraxes what you’ve seen here.  Let him know what I’m capable of and that I’d like to see some tribute.  A half-million creds should do. For now.” He watched Sami’s face carefully for signs of deception.

Sami nodded in agreement, looking sincere as a senator.  “Done. We’ll leave you now.”

“No.  You leave, but she stays until I hear from Meraxes.  Then you can come and pick up your bodyguard.”

“Fine,” Sami said.  She couldn’t have believed him any less if he’d offered to throw in a free puppy for the inconvenience, but then again she didn’t know a Meraxes, so they were both double crossers.  She figured he’d let his guard down around Phasma for a millisecond sometime and it would all be over.

“I’m not her bodyguard,” Phasma grumbled.  “If anything, she’s  _ my _ slicer.”

Sami made a mental note that Phasma’s social espionage skills could use some work.  She hit the deck and rolled in a random direction. A blaster bolt singed her prior position.  Phasma closed the distance between herself and the warlord. She absorbed a pair of shots, not bothering to dodge.  They were agonizing, even through her new armor. However, it was only pain, not damage, and she had no time to spare.  Phasma reached out and clamped a huge hand across the Keth’s mouth. When he tried to scream or possibly bite her, she twisted his jaw down and to the side.  It shattered with a grizzly crack. He’d speak no code words today. 

He tried to bring the blaster around to aim at Phasma’s injured areas, but he could barely move his neck from the pain.  Pressing her advantage, Phasma reversed directions and twisted his head back around the other way. He gurgled in agony, but only for the brief moment until his spinal cord snapped.  

Phasma dropped his body to the ground, sparing a careful look to make sure the rat cages were still intact and solidly closed.

 

“I may not have found any records, but I think I have what I need to continue,” Phasma said.  “Now we know that Hrucium-9 is the trickiest component to obtain and the key to protecting the subjects’ brains from the ravages of the other parts of the serum.  Assuming that’s still important to Barrik, he’ll have to find a source.”

“I can definitely turn my focus onto that specific drug, though it’ll be a lot more slicing of high-security databases than before.  I can’t go through pharmaceutical salesmen for this one,” Sami said.

_ Good , _ Phasma thought.  “That’s fine, but first would you like to do the honors?”  She held out a device with one prominent button.

Sami grinned.  They’d spent hours after escaping the facility setting high-explosive charges underneath the lab and threading them all throughout the asteroid.  “Don’t mind if I do.”

She pushed the button.  There was a delay of nine seconds, then a blinding flash of light.  Soon afterward, a wash of energy shook their ship even though they’d traveled 150% of minimum safe distance away.  The leftover pattern of galactic pebbles had a strange beauty, Sami thought. 

Phasma took her seat at the co-pilot’s station.  She scanned and scanned, verifying that the asteroid was completely destroyed.  Critically, she wanted to ensure that no piece large enough for a rat to cling to survived the day.  Her mind finally at ease, she set in a course back to Maz’s place to start preparations to meet her maker.


	17. Chapter 17

Two uniformed officers approached the Cronus lab lobby with authoritative walks not seen much in these days after the end of the civil war. One was a dark haired beauty and seemed to be the commander of the duo. The other was immensely tall for a woman and had a stern face that could cause even the most rebellious of soldiers to step back in line.

“Major Fettma of the inspectorate,” the dark haired woman stated as she flashed a badge and withdrew it quicker than the private could examine it. “We’re here to investigate the death of one of the staff.”

“Er, yes,” the private stuttered, feeling the hard stare of the tall blonde. He was sure she was scrutinizing everything in her mind. “They said you wouldn’t be here till tomorrow.”

“Best to get witness statements as soon as possible. Memories are decidedly fickle, you know,” Major Fettma answered. “Please buzz us through.”

“Uh, I’ll have to get the Lieutenant’s permission on that,” the private responded as he took up the comm. He was stopped by a clenched hand circling his wrist. He looked up into the eyes of the blonde who held him in a vice grip.

“We’re here on official business,” she said with a surprisingly melodic tone that contrasted with the rest of her appearance. “Don’t bother your lieutenant. Just unlock the door.”

The private swallowed hard. Fear had caught him like a deer in the headlights, but he realized the circumstances all the same. “You’re not from the inspectorate,” he managed to utter in a near whisper.

The blonde simply sighed and looked back at Major Fettma who was already giving her a non-committal shrug.

“It was worth a try,” the Major replied. The blonde slammed the private’s head into the desk, knocking him out cold. They cocked their blasters as they buzzed themselves through the lab entrance, the screaming already commencing.

Two days later, they bypassed any infiltration tactics at the lab on Jeddah and simply went in with guns blazing. It was much quicker and more suited to Phasma’s style.

 

Phasma watched from the window of the recon ship as the Jeddah lab burned after the explosion destroyed anyone or thing associated with the science. Neither the Jeddah lab nor the one on Cronus proved fruitful in finding Barrik, and Phasma was disheartened to note that there were no more reports of the serum being produced. The trail had gone cold, and there was little hope of finding the man she had vowed to kill.

 

Phasma’s melancholy about losing the trail was made worse when Sami insisted she needed to be at the Resistance meeting at an undisclosed location. Fourteen hours after the destruction of Jeddah’s lab, Phasma was sulking in the recon ship while Sami met with Maz and a few hundred other Resistance members in a deserted base on a deserted moon. Still having somewhat of a First Order mentality, the thought that she could wipe out the entire Resistance with one well-aimed plasma cannon blast into the building crossed her mind. Instead, she did push-ups for a straight hour while she considered other ways to find Barrik.

She wasn’t alone for very long. Maz and Sami came back aboard, and they set off for a planet near the outer rim. Currently, Maz was in the market for some prime real estate to build her next castle.

“You’ll be glad to know everyone has bought into your death, hook, line, and sinker,” Maz said as they jumped into hyperspace. Phasma gave an apathetic shrug. “Finn, your former stormtrooper, has been telling the story to everyone. I think he even has General Organa convinced, especially since the First Order has officially reported your death with high honors.”

“I don’t care.” Phasma was not in the mood to be annoyed about it. She had other issues that demanded her attention. 

“I’m sorry you didn’t find Barrik,” Maz said, getting to the heart of her depression.

Phasma fisted her hand with determination. “I will.”

“He could be dead by now, for all you know,” Sami remarked.

“Are you trying to make me feel worse?”

“No, I’m just saying…uh, that…I guess I don’t know what I’m saying.”

“I think what Sami is trying to say is that you can be free of your thoughts of revenge.”

“I’d rather look him in the eye while he dies a slow, painful death than find out he died in any way less punishing.”

“Yes, I see. But revenge isn’t everything. You’ve destroyed the labs. You’ve made sure there can be no more injustice to children like the ones from where you came from. Places like…Parnassi.”

“You don’t understand, if I don’t find Barrik, it will have been in vain.”

“What will?”

“Abandoning the First Order. My command.” Phasma paused, finding it difficult to speak his name. “Armitage.”

“I understand, Phasma,” Maz said, patting her on the shoulder. “I wish I could tell you something that could help you, but I don’t think I can.”

There was something in the way Maz had spoken, some nuance that Phasma wasn’t supposed to catch on to. Phasma glanced at Maz suspiciously. 

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” she stated.

Maz looked wide-eyed at her. “I’m not sure why you would think that.”

“There’s another lab, isn’t there?”

Maz sighed and looked away in guilt. “Possibly. There’s been a recent order for the super soldier rare chemicals to a moon base just outside of Raxus. It’s not only a small quantity but also the first shipment made there so if someone is making that serum, they’re in the early stages of experimentation. It’s doubtful that it’s worth pursuing. Frankly, it sounds like a trap.”

Phasma knew a lot about traps. Anyone with a modicum of intelligence to connect the labs’ destruction would know it would require much more to draw in the assassin team that was destroying them. Having this whiff of a trail meant either it was someone dumb enough to make an obvious trap or it was someone trying to start an actual lab. 

“As soon as we drop you off, Sami and I are going to Raxus.”

“But what if it’s a trap?”

“It’s not a trap.”

“But what if it is?”

“It’s not.”

Maz huffed out in irritation. “Fine, but you two had better comm me once you get there.” 

That night Phasma lay in her bunk looking blankly at the ceiling. Analyzing all the possibilities, it was very likely she was being led to the location by someone, though she didn’t think there was danger behind it. If her suspicions turned out to be correct, she wasn’t sure if she looked forward to it or not. Nervousness roiled her stomach.

 

The moon was barren rock with mostly breathable air. Sami scanned the surface of the moon but shook her head at the results.

“There’s nothing here,” she said. “Not even a possible underground lair.” The scanner blipped and Sami’s eyes went wide. “Although there’s a small shuttle on the surface in plain sight. Not sure yet, but possibly First Order. We need to leave.”

“No,” Phasma was quick to reply, grabbing Sami’s controls before she could fly off. “It’s not a trap.”

“How sure are you about that?”

“Thirty percent. Land about fifty paces from the shuttle.”

Sami shook her head resignedly and pulled the throttle towards the moon. “I’m only slightly more confident about heading into a trap because you’re the best soldier I’ve ever known.”

“I told you. It’s not a trap.”

“What is it then?”

“A resolution.”

 

From the air it was apparent the shuttle was of the First Order. If the sleek design and black color of the ship wasn’t an indicator, the insignia on the tail certainly was. Sami touched down exactly where Phasma indicated. A lone man standing some distance from the shuttle was already waiting for them.

Sami noticed the look Phasma had in her eye as the Captain stared down at the man standing rigidly in his formal black First Order uniform. On his sleeves were general’s stripes.

“Stay here,” Phasma told her. Her voice sounded shaky but Sami couldn’t be sure.

“Why?” Sami demanded. “And do what?” It was hard not to notice Phasma went unarmed after she had placed all her weapons on the table before debarking. All she could do was watch Phasma from the cockpit, keeping her sidearm close.

 

He hadn’t known if his breadcrumb trail would work. He was actually surprised enough to flinch when a small ship jumped out of hyperspace outside the vacant moon where it would be suspicious for any ship to be. He made his shuttle more visible, basically waving a giant, glow-in-the-dark flag in his direction. Standing at attention, his thoughts were stumbling through his mind in chaos upon the encroaching ship. It was small, about the size of his own, and all he really knew was that aboard it was someone who seemed intent on blowing up secret labs. The only reason the First Order knew anything about them was because of the aftermath of their destruction. Even then, the governments and clans were not very forthright on giving information.

He shivered in the chilly wind and the restless worry. What if it wasn’t Phasma after all? There was no indication she was alive. Just a hunch he had after seeing one frame of footage from a camera on Parrium V that had caught the intruder before he had shot out the feed with a precision shot of his blaster. 

What if he had just summoned a monster?

One look of the tall, statuesque blonde climbing out of the ship made his knees nearly buckle in relief and joy. His only friend was alive. He couldn’t be mad about her betrayal right now, his happiness to see her was so great. But being a man conditioned not to emote, he stayed rigid in his stance and waited for her to come to him; her general.

She held his eye contact the entire walk towards him, the same stride she had when she was a Captain. Tall and proud. She wasn’t at all regretful in her betrayal. It hurt a little.

She stopped before him and they stared at one another for a few silent seconds. There was more to her now, he could see. She was not quite as robotic. She seemed more…human.

“You’re looking well,” Hux began, his eyes glancing at each quadrant of her body. “And…not dead.”

“I am very much alive, sir,” she replied in a habitual stormtrooper’s response.

“Yes, so I see.” Her response did not quell his melancholy that she did not seem as happy to see him. At least she was cordial enough not to kill him at first sight. “I do wonder what compelled you to leave. You were one of the top commanders of the First Order. Surely that meant something to you?”

“It did at first, sir,” she replied, standing at attention. “But there is more to life than pride in one’s work.”

“And what is that, Captain?” Hux inquired. “You were excellent in your duties. The very best. What is there that can draw my most loyal soldier astray?”

Phasma stared straight ahead, allowing a beat of silence to strengthen her reason. “Revenge.”

“They say revenge does not satiate one’s spite.”

“I’d rather find out for myself then adhere to ancient wisdom.”

Hux stared long at her enough that she wondered if he was considering her fate. He finally sighed, giving her a glimpse into his internal thoughts. “The one regret I have in my father’s death is that I was not the one to have ordered it.”

Phasma blinked in surprise. “In a way you had, sir.”

“Oh? How so?”

“I overheard your last conversation with your father. You were unhappy and told him so. He was disrespectful about it. I took it upon myself to rectify the situation.”

Hux snorted as a thin smile spread across his face. “Then I am glad of it. You were always one to take the initiative despite your rigid conditioning. I hated the idea of losing you as my Captain and I never took offense for what you did.”

“I am sorry to betray you, General,” Phasma said, lowering her head in shame. “But I must seek revenge for my brother and my people.”

Again, there was a short silence until Hux put a hand to her shoulder, causing her to look up into his green eyes. “I understand, Phasma.”

Nothing could have been more relieving to her than his forgiveness. Still, she was rendered speechless even as Hux pulled out a datapad from his inside pocket and handed it to Phasma. She glanced at it in puzzlement before taking it from him. “It’s my father’s old datapad. The one they found in his room the day he…well, you know.”

Phasma looked wide-eyed at him before powering it on. There was no password to bypass. Instantly she was in Brendol Hux’s files. “You’re giving this to me?”

“Take it. It’s yours.”

“Sir, I…” Phasma tried to say something but her lack of experience with intense gratitude left her without words. Hux was quick to cover for her.

“After I managed to hack into it, I found various notes about his projects. It took me a good fortnight to figure out the labs that had been infiltrated were using the same chemicals as the ones listed out in one of the files. Once I connected the dots, I thought perhaps one of the BRI’s was destroying them. That was right around the time I had your death officially recorded. The thought that maybe you weren’t dead after all, that you had somehow faked it, came to me.” Hux coughed into his fist which she recalled meant he was preparing himself to be more sentimental than he was comfortable with. He paused before continuing. “If you don’t mind my saying, Captain, I’m very glad you survived the destruction of the _ Supremacy.  _ Regardless of where you stand in the galaxy, it would be a worse place without you. _ ” _

Despite her betrayal, she knew that he was genuinely happy that she was not lost to the void of space. A person unfamiliar with him would look upon his face and see disregard and mild apathy. Phasma noted the quick sniff of his nose and recognized it as a means to control the emotional rise he felt of their reunion. There was a need brimming in Phasma that had always been stewing when she was around Hux but had never known what exactly it was. She let it take control of her now as she stepped forward in Hux’s space and wrapped her arms around his scrawny neck.

Hux gasped in surprise. He was bear hugged hard enough that his black cap was knocked off his head and his airway temporarily restricted. If this was an assassination attempt, it was the most benevolent one he’d heard of. He didn’t mind dying this way as long as the embrace was sincere. So few times he had been hugged in his life and to die from one seemed like the best circumstance he had hoped for himself. He pulled his arms around her midsection and gave in.

Phasma let him go after a brief period, both looking like they were somehow relieved and remiss of it.

There was nothing else for them to say. With nods of gratitude in both directions, they turned back to their ships, swallowing the lumps in their throats at the prospect of never seeing the other again.

 

From the cockpit of the recon ship, Sami stared at the two hugging with her jaw hanging limply from her mouth. She was not used to the idea that First Order officers were anything more than unfeeling dirtbags bent on destroying the galaxy, yet here was one currently embracing Phasma like it was the end of his life.

She noticed the hug seemed to go on for a while.

Soon Phasma was walking back to the ship. By the time she had climbed aboard, the First Order shuttle had already taken off. They were alone.

One look at Phasma and Sami could see the redness in her eyes like tears being suppressed with extreme difficulty.

“Was that Armitage Hux?” Sami asked, wanting to get to the root of their relationship. She was aware Hux was the only person that knew Phasma’s face, but she hadn’t thought about how that opened up a possibility of romantic inclinations between the two until now.

“Yes,” Phasma replied. Her usually strong voice was thin and wavered.

“What did he want?”

“To give me this.” Phasma pulled a datapad out of her pocket and powered it up. Scrolling through the files revealed a wealth of information about all of Brendol Hux’s projects, including the BRI Program. In rising excitement, Phasma quickly skimmed files until she stopped at one that seemed to hold the key to what she was looking for.

“It says here that Brendol and Barrik had a fallback plan in case they were ever compromised.”

“Compromised?”

“Probably a safe house they can go to in case they’re in trouble with the law.”

“Ah, what’s their fallback plan?”

“They had a safe house set up on Endor. It even has a lab on it, no doubt so that Barrik could continue with his abominable experiments.”

“So we’re going to Endor?”

“Yes. I’ll tell Maz. You set a course.”

Sami lifted the recon ship into the sky and they set off across the galaxy to Endor. They were a long ways away. It would take several days to get there. 

Putting the ship into autopilot, Sami walked back to the community room where Phasma had just wrapped up her call to Maz and was currently reading the datapad in great interest. She hardly seemed to notice Sami sit in the chair next to her.

“So…” Sami began, gaining a small amount of Phasma’s attention.

“Hm?”

“Armitage Hux…you two a thing?”

Phasma glanced up at her from the corner of her eye. “No.”

“Ah.” Sami didn’t know how to get Phasma to answer her unasked questions so decided to leave it at that, satisfied enough to know there was nothing more than camaraderie between them.

“He was my only friend,” Phasma continued, to her surprise. Sami felt bad now, realizing she was temporarily jealous of a man who had been Phasma’s sole touch to reality beyond being a stormtrooper. She had probably lost him forever, and Sami felt the pain as if losing her own father again.

“I see.”

“But I’ve made other friends,” Phasma smiled. “And I don’t want to leave her.”

The slow, burning simmer started in Sami’s stomach at their established partnership. Maintaining her distance from Phasma out of any notion that there was zero future for them was thrown out the window. She happened to know Phasma was capable of hugging and she threw her arms around her.

“First things first, we should name this ship.”


	18. Chapter 18

“I’ll give him that no one would think to look for a secret lab here,” Sami said.  The forest moon of Endor loomed large in the  _ Silver Shadow’s _ view screen.  It featured no large cities or evidence of significant technical development.

“He doesn’t need much infrastructure.  Just his chemicals and children to torture,” Phasma grumbled.

Sami let Phasma’s spike of anger pass without comment.  She’d been coming to terms with her emotions more and more lately, and Maz had warned Sami that the upsurge was likely to resemble a late adolescence.  “Finding a spot to land will be on the tricky side, especially in stealth mode. I think I’ll go for the old Resistance port near Bright Tree Village. Barrik probably won’t be monitoring it, but even if he notices us, a ship landing there won’t be too suspicious.  There is still some sporadic trade with the natives.”

“Good,” Phasma said.  “Smart thinking,” she added.  She’d lately been trying to remember to treat Sami as less of a subordinate and more of an equal partner.  It took some conscious practice.

Sami landed the craft with scarcely a bump.  “Skillfully done,” Phasma said, earning an odd look.  Sami was much more used to Phasma assuming her competence without having to comment on it.  She wondered if Phasma was buttering her up to ask for something, though even that slight degree of subterfuge was unlike Phasma.

“I’ll see what the locals can tell us about any new arrivals,” Sami said.  “In the meantime, you should look over those surface scans you did on the way in and see if you can pinpoint the lab.”

Phasma had already begun to pull up the sensor readings.  She nodded an acknowledgment in Sami’s general direction and got to work.

Sami exited the ship to the small spaceport’s docking zone.  She already liked the appearance of Endor with its sense of wildness and distance from the core worlds.  Her early life had left her with a fondness for the frontier and the vague feeling that she should move on whenever any place became too settled.  Of late she’d had to pass through too many cities for her taste. The smell of coniferous trees and lack of petrochemicals in the air did her spirit a world of good.

A human mechanic brazenly wearing an old Resistance medal hailed her.  She hailed him back with a Resistance hand sign. They were soon in the thick of conversation like old war buddies even though they’d never met.  

“Yeah, the locals found the clearing, but you won’t entice any of them to go back.  They say it’s patrolled by battle droids and that the settlers never come to the gates even when they bring them baskets full of welcoming food as hospitality.  A few of them tried to dig under the fences and got a shock for their trouble, so now they give it a wide berth. On t’other hand, they say not many seems to live there and they keep to themselves, so it’s really not a problem.  You know something about it?”

“I’ve heard it’s a First Order research lab.  I’m here to check up on it,” Sami said. That was true, by broad strokes at least.

“I don’t know about a lab,” the mechanic, Trevan, said.  “You need special supplies to do research, don’t you? Machines and chemicals and what not.  They’ve not had anything come in these last six months, unless they somehow got it by me. Which is not something I’m like to let happen.  I’ll collect my docking fees and tariffs from anyone who’s not a friend, I guarantee it.”

“Hmm,” Sami mused.  “Do you suppose I could talk to one of the locals who ventured near?”

“As to that, when I said local, I really meant native.  The Ewoks are the indigenous beings here. Think of Wookiees but only a meter tall.  They’re clever enough, but a bit skittish and superstitious. You’ll want to make a good first impression or they’ll run you out of town.”

Sami hmm’d again.

 

When she returned to the ship, Phasma had largely duplicative news for her.  

“I can see a clearing, but it’s smaller than I expected.  There’s perhaps one underground level. They’ve fenced in several small areas on the grounds.  I don’t want to make assumptions, but in my experience Dr. Barrik often builds obstacle courses for his subjects.”  She breathed steadily, calmly. Sami didn’t need to know about the blood-curdling flashbacks she’d experienced on seeing the training zones.  Her blue eyes lit gratefully onto Sami’s face; the memory of her gentle chanting had brought her out of them.

“That’s what the dockmaster said too, that he wouldn’t have pegged it as a research lab.  Maybe we ought to set up some surveillance drones and see what we can find out. Doesn’t look like he’s going anywhere, so we have some time.”

Phasma assented to the plan and fed Sami the coordinates of the site.  Sami programmed her sensor drones to gradually approach the area while avoiding any direct contact.  They would monitor the fields and transmit back what they observed. 

“There.  That should let us know what we’re dealing with.  Shall we give it, say, a full day?”

“All right.  Is there anything to do while we wait?”  Phasma hoped the surrounding forest would be safe for exercise.  She didn’t intend to stay cooped up on the ship practicing her small talk skills.

Sami’s eyes glittered with mischief.  “I think we should talk with the natives, and I’ve been giving how to do that some thought.  I mentioned there’s been a Resistance base in the area since the time of the Galactic Civil War.  In fact, this is where the Rebels destroyed the shield generator protecting the second Death Star.  One factor that helped them get in good with the natives was their protocol droid. He resembled their legends of the Golden One, and so they took him as a god.  Do you see where I’m going with this?”

“No,” replied a perplexed Phasma.

“If you put on your chrome armor and I fawned over you a bit, at the very least they’ll treat you as an honored guest.  You might be able to pull off the god con. It’d be fun to try.”

“I don’t think that’s wise.”

“Uh-huh.  Because that’s definitely been your criteria so far, doing what's wise.  C’mon, don’t you want to shine like a star again?”

“It won’t be the same without the cape,” sulked Phasma.

“I’ll mend the cape!” Sami yelled.

 

Phasma descended from the ship dressed in full chrome armor and (slightly shortened) cape.  She again felt complete, secure – armored – inside and out. Whatever not-entirely-straight-forward plan Sami had in mind, Phasma must admit that her confidence had risen once she donned her familiar armor.  Having emotions impacting her effectiveness was still new, but she was starting to see the positive side to it. She strode out of the hanger, leaving Sami to jog after her to match her pace.

“The village is west from here.  It’s mostly hidden up in the trees but they’ll have guards that spot us long before we approach any buildings.  Just stay calm. We’re in their territory so they’ll challenge us, but no one really wants a fight.” 

“I will endeavor to do so,” Phasma replied coolly.

Sami grinned.  She couldn’t help herself; something about imperious Phasma kicked her right in the hindbrain.  The blonde perfectionist would have been an excellent leader even without the physical enhancements.

After less than a kilometer of hiking through the woods, a pair of expertly aimed spears fell from the trees, landing directly in their path to form an X.  Two short furry creatures quickly leapt to the ground. Looking up, Sami could see others stationed in the branches.

“Stop!  You are not known friends,” one said in Ewokese.

“We come in peace, noble guardians.”  Sami spoke slowly so their hand-held translators could more easily perform their function.  “I am Sami, servant to the Shiny One. She is a great warrior blessed by the gods who seeks to speak with the scout Trefi about what he saw in the new human area.”

_ The gods.  Phasma. Scratches in the rust.  No salvation; only death. Phasma has turned her back on us.  Phasma. Fuck Phasma. _

Phasma’s breathing quickened beneath her helm.  She lifted her hands up so she could see her armor, comforting and familiar.  She turned her head to see her cape, the culmination of her authority. She tried to remember Sami’s soothing song, but her speaking voice kept getting in the way.

“The gods personally touched Phasma and raised her to their treetop realm.  So you see-”

“No,” Phasma interrupted shakily.  “I am no god. I am a merely a warrior and a human woman.  But I promise you that if there are humans here doing you harm, I will see to them so that they trouble you no more.”

The Ewok guards chattered excitedly to one another in Ewokese too quick for their translators to follow.  They pulled their spears out of the dirt and gestured for the women to precede them down the path. One threw a reproachful look at Sami.  

“Well, that’s one way to play it, I suppose,” Sami grumbled.

“I was not going to be able to maintain the fiction,” Phasma said.  Her vocoder smoothed out the emotion from her voice as usual, but she had an inkling that Sami understood that the change in plan was not whimsical on her part. 

 

Most of the village was built into the sturdy branches of the surrounding trees, leaving little evidence of it on the ground.  Sami did Phasma the courtesy of riding alongside her in the cargo winch rather than trying to climb. She figured if she followed the Ewoks, Phasma would as well, and the branches may be unable to take the strain.  She had time to look around on the way up and could scarcely contain her glee.

“Can you believe how cute they are Phasma?  Look! That one has a baby! I’ve never seen anything so adorable!  Don’t you wish you could just scoop them into a big cuddly hug?”

“Not really,” Phasma said.  She saw a primitive village with skilled, agile warriors that were nonetheless unsuitable for training as stormtroopers.  Their small statute would make them poor hand-to-hand combatants, and their overlarge hands would not work with standard First Order blasters.

Their guide led them toward a hut on a spur off one of the central platforms, but it quickly became apparent that they would not all fit comfortably inside.  They backtracked to the larger platform while their guide retrieved the scout. Phasma’s appearance did not go unnoticed. Curious woklings approached to touch her armor and chuckle when she moved.  Sami allowed them to sit on her lap and stroke her hair while she petted their soft fur.

Sami sighed happily, “I wish we could gather them up and bring them someplace safe where we could watch over them.”

“You want to enslave them?” Phasma asked, wondering just what sort of woman she'd trusted with her life on several occasions.

“No!  Just to... keep them where I could play with them... and watch them... That's not much better, is it?”

“No, it's not,” Phasma replied.  She had little enough sense of humor on normal days and none where dehumanizing treatment was concerned.  Besides, she was coming around to the idea of partnering with Sami for the foreseeable future, and she'd rather not be stumbling over the little chittering hairballs all the time.

Their guide interrupted the conversation by shooing away the woklings to introduce Trefi.  He had an unusual pattern of wavy stripes in his fur where most of the townspeople were of a solid color.  Phasma knew that the contour breaking effect of stripes often helped disguise something in plain sight. The Ewok was a born scout.

“Hello strangers,” he said.

“Greetings,” said Sami.  

Phasma acknowledged him with a nod.  

“We’re here to investigate the new human ground house,” Sami said.  “If you saw anything of interest, we would appreciate hearing about it.”

Trefi proved talkative for a scout.  In Phasma’s experience, scouts tended to get right to the point, but Trefi was far more focused on expressing his outrage about the trees the humans felled and the wild root crops they’d inadvertently fenced in.  Little by little, however, they drew out some drabs of information about the enemy. 

They learned that the facility was constructed about a year ago mostly from pieces ‘woven from air by machine.’  The use of materials printing spoke of impermanence to Phasma. Barrik must not expect to need to maintain the facility for an extended amount of time.  He had probably reached a point where laboratory research is unnecessary and was ready to move into field testing. This also affirmed Phasma’s scans that no extensive underground construction was present.  

Only a few humans were there, Trefi said.  Though humans mostly looked alike, he didn’t think there were more than five.  He hadn’t seen any younglings. There hadn’t been a supply ship this season, but a small shuttle had landed directly on the site before Tanna’s baby was born.  (Some subsequent asking around estimated this to be a week ago). 

Trefi said that the tribe was not interested in attempting to befriend these humans any longer, but he could guide them there.  They assured him that they knew the way, and prepared to make their leave.

“How did you come to know of the place,” Sami asked almost as an afterthought.

“The humans at the trading port complained about their power being stolen.  They tracked the theft with machines and offered us a prize to hunt down the energy thief.  We search the underbrush where the too tall humans could not. Soon, we found the clearing tucked away where no paths had even been.  It must have descended from the sky like a seed. The humans inside wanted no new friends and put up fences. We would leave them be, but they have not replanted the trees they cut down.”

“I see,” Sami said formally.  “We will discuss these matters of great importance with them if we are able to gain admittance.”

“Yes,  _ discuss _ ,” Phasma added in a growl that made Trefi’s lips curl into a feral smile. 

 

On returning from their excursion to the Ewok village, Phasma and Sami scanned the surveillance vids of Barrik’s facility.  Battle droids patrolled it in a regular pattern. Occasional avians attempting to land atop the fences showed they were still electrified. 

“I wonder… If we temporarily shut down the power at the spaceport, would that cut the juice on the fence?” Sami asked.

“Most likely,” Phasma replied.  “Barrik probably has generators for the critical parts of his work, perhaps emergency lighting, but he wouldn’t want to sap his reactor powering all that fencing.”

“If you cut the fence here,” Sami pointed, “you could slip between the droid patrols and enter by the door to the yards.  They’ll likely be some chaos, but I’m pretty sure you can roll with that.”

“Do you think you can convince the dockmaster to shut down for an hour or so?”

“The Resistance dockmaster?  Yeah. Probably won’t even cost me a beer.”

“Very well; that will be your job.  I do believe this is mine.” Phasma tapped at a new image on the screen.  A man with the bearing of a soldier had taken his place in the exercise yard.  He was clothed only in short pants and a tank top, his stacked cords of muscle on prominent display.

“Look at that brute!  Bigger than you!” Sami exclaimed.

“He must be BRI-2, Barrik’s guardian.”  Phasma paused and evaluated the image. “Far too large to be natural growth, even enhanced.  I wonder if Barrik has kept experimenting on him all this time.”

“Well, uh, good a time as any to give you this, I suppose,” Sami said.  She fished through her traveling bag and came up with a shiny cylinder. She flipped it to Phasma saying, “I thought you might want your old staff back.  Sometimes a familiar weapon suits you best, and it looks like you'll need every advantage you can get.”

Phasma’s mouth dropped open as she took in the silverstaff.  It was the one Armitage had given her just before the destruction of the  _ Supremacy. _  She read the inscription:   _ To Captain Phasma, Commander and Ally. General Armitage Hux _ .  Her eyes felt wet and her nose stuffy.

“Where did you get this?” she gasped.

“Oh… er… you remember we had to stop on that moon for the Resistance assembly? Your former stormtrooper, Finn, was showing it off and telling the story of how you fell through the fissure on the Supremacy. He gave it to General Organa once the story was told. I asked her if I could have it.”

Phasma was no master interrogator, but something seemed a little off in that story.  “You’d think General Organa would keep the staff on display as a morale boost for the Resistance.  Defeat of a First Order Captain by a mere Resistance foot soldier is surely a rare event.”

“Maybe I didn’t so much ask permission as depend on General Organa’s reputation for mercy.  Anyway, do you want the staff back or not?”

“I do, yes.  Thank you.” Phasma added the thanks almost without missing a beat.  She extended the staff to its full length and read Armitage’s words again.   _ Commander and Ally _ .  It filled her with an ache, but it was a fond sort of pain.

“I want you back, you know.  Don’t go getting too heroic in there.  Do the job, get out, live to fight another day, yeah?”

“Yeah.”  Phasma’s mind was in a whirl.  Her fledgling attempts to deal with her emotions hadn’t prepared her for this.  Sami knew how much the staff meant to her and had risked so much to help her feel whole.  The moment demanded something more, a seal on their pact.

She pulled off her helm and bent down slightly to press her lips against those of a very surprised Sami.  The kiss soon deepened and gained different shades of meaning, taking in their past together, promises of the future, and very present realities.  When they at last broke apart Phasma’s voice sounded unprecedentedly whiny. “I wish I could keep on the armor.”

“How about just the cape?” Sami asked.  Phasma began to understand the pleasures in compromise.


	19. Chapter 19

Except for the crackling of the electricity surging through the fence, everything was quiet. Crouched in the dark of the Endor forest, Phasma waited at the perimeter for the lights surrounding Barrik’s compound to cut out. Sami should be at the spacedock by now, Phasma thought. She looked at the time, synched earlier with Sami’s.

3...2…1… 

There wasn’t so much as a flicker once the electricity had been choked. The entire compound was drenched in total darkness. Phasma quietly sliced through the wall with a laserknife and snuck in.

The droids guarding the perimeter were class B sentries outfitted with BlasTech light repeaters. They seemed oblivious to the power outage, continuing their normal guarding patterns. Phasma had expected more from someone trying hard to preserve his own life, but considering that Barrik was a scientist and not a soldier, he probably had no idea how to set up a proper security sequence.

From her hiding position, Phasma stealthily crept up behind a sentry, placed the tip of her silenced pistol near the processor located in its chest, and fired. The blast sent a bolt clean through its sternum, frying circuits in a perfect circle. She did the same to the next one and hid the remaining scrap in the brush.

One of the doors to the building was unlocked, undoubtedly because it was connected to the main power source. Without power, it swung quietly on its hinges.  Phasma peeked inside and froze in perplexity. 

_ What was this place? _

From her position crouched outside the door, she could make out what looked like an immense log cabin interior lighted by the soft glow of holo-fireplaces. A lavish fountain supplied an ambient running stream effect.

A protocol droid stood at attention in the middle of the room, facing the door she was peeking through. She wasn’t sure if it saw her.

“Good evening, Captain Phasma,” it suddenly reported. Apparently it had. “Dr. Barrik is expecting you.”

Phasma stood up and advanced carefully. Her HUD indicated there were no security droids around. The protocol droid sensed her reluctance and reassured her she was not in danger. 

“Dr. Barrik is excited to see you again,” it said, thinking that would be a comfort. “Come this way.” The droid waved his gold fingers further into the structure. “Follow me, please.”

Curiosity overwhelmed her. Hesitantly, Phasma obeyed.

 

She was escorted down a hall where music floated through the air and grew louder as they approached a large dining area. The room was dark, lined with red velvet walls, and also lit by a giant holo-fireplace behind the head of the table. An audio speaker played the musical notes of a Coruscant Opera she recognized as one Armitage liked to listen to while working in his office.

The eeriness didn’t quite stem from the room itself, but from the four members already seated and staring at her as she slipped through the door behind the droid. Their eyes burned into her with a complicated range of emotions.

“Ah, subject 17 of Parnassos…” The voice came from the man sitting at the end. Facing her, with his back to the fire, it was difficult to make out his features. He had his hands steepled in front of him except when he gestured at the empty chair across the long table. “Please. Take your seat.”

Phasma looked long and hard at the other three. On one side sat the giant that she had seen on the surveillance vid. He was even more massive in person. Normal clothes did not fit him, so he wore the shorts and tank top that she had seen him in yesterday. He glared at her in a strange fixed way, like he was visualizing her death by his hands.

Across the table from him sat a boy of about twelve years. He, too, stared at her but mostly out of curiosity, like a teenager would at a new classmate.

To the right of the boy was the only face Phasma knew well. Captain Cardinal was in his red storm trooper armor just as she was in her chrome. His helmet had been removed and he stared back at her with less malice than she was expecting. His eyes seemed pleading in fact, desperately trying to convey something too complicated to communicate by looks alone.

Finally, Phasma faced Barrik. She could tell he was smiling at her. The protocol droid had not been wrong; he was certainly happy to have them all together again. She doubted it was for purposes that would make a normal father happy though. It was surreal. There sat a man who thought he could welcome back his tortured animals and expect not to get bitten. 

With slow, tentative steps, Phasma pulled the chair out and sat down.

“The helmet, please,” Barrik requested. Phasma drew it off her head. She noted the boy seemed surprised by her appearance. “Good. You’re looking well, my child.”

Phasma let her silence speak for her. Animosity came across stronger when communicated by a harsh glare. 

“Captain Cardinal informed us you’d be here soon,” Barrik continued. “It seems he was right.”

Phasma glanced at Cardinal in puzzlement.

“Major Granius, the Resistance officer you met with on Kiffex, told me the pirate woman was investigating something,” Cardinal explained. His voice came out unsure and not at all with the strength she came to expect from him. “I had a look at the chemicals and knew right away they were the same ones Brendol used to traffic. After that I put a tracker and a bug on the pirate and overheard your conversation with her about coming to Endor.”

“You came here to kill me.” Phasma stated it as fact and with no hint of offense.

“Yes. Instead, Dr. Barrik has convinced me that your death is not warranted.”

Phasma eyed Barrik carefully, who sat smiling at them as they discussed something as macabre as each other’s demise.

“We are together again,” Barrik said gladly. “How I’ve longed for us to be reunited. But Brendol Hux…he had other plans for you.” Barrik snapped his fingers and two droids came in. They quickly set bowls of soup in front of each person then left as soon as they came, probably sensing the tension palpable enough that even a microprocessor could feel it. Aside from Barrik, everyone sat motionless in their seats.

“Are you not hungry, Subject 17?” he asked. He seemed genuinely confused. She noted he did not seem concerned about the others who had not picked up their spoons.

“I’m not here to eat,” Phasma replied calmly.

Barrik shook his head with a feigned sadness. “Oh, how Brendol has steered you wrong, my child. My death will only bring you loneliness. Not that you could be the arbitrator of such a thing.”

“You have a lot of faith in BRI-2.” Her blaster was already trained at the brute under the table.

“As you’ve guessed, he was once designated BRI-2, but he’s been given the name Junior and you will refer to your brother that way.”

She eyed Junior speculatively. With his short dark hair and piercing black eyes, he maintained eye contact with her in threat. He seemed to sense the blaster in her hand and tensed himself for impact.

“He’s no brother of mine,” she responded.

“We are all family here,” Barrik assured. “All of us of a superior nature. Junior being the oldest brother and the strongest. Subject 4 of Jakku, or Cardinal as he likes to be called, is the responsible brother; the hero. And you, Subject 17, you are the intelligent sister. This is a family with more than enough strength to succeed.”

Phasma glanced at the boy sitting to Barrik’s left. “And him?”

“This is Trey. He has been waiting for his sister.”

Trey bore no usual symptoms of the super soldier serum, causing Phasma to guess he had not been subjected to the experiments. By the time she was twelve, she was tall, strong and riddled with scars. The boy had no such traits.

“This is a family only a psychopath could dream up,” Phasma scoffed.

“ _ I _ am _ not _ the psychopath,” Barrik replied in a forced calm. “Brendol Hux took most of your forty brothers and sisters and sent them to their deaths as simple soldiers. There is nothing more psychotic than making a new breed of superhumans and not using them to structure the next generation of humanity.  _ That _ is psychotic.”

“So what does that make you?” Phasma asked. She was biding for time, analyzing each person in a fighting scenario. Sonny seemed as clever as a mold spore. In her experience, strategy usually won out over strength. “It would be ridiculous to impose yourself in the role of a father.”

Barrik pounded his fist hard on the table causing everyone to jump in surprise. His flash of anger disappeared as quickly as it came. “Why would that be so ridiculous?” His strained words faltered through his effort to remain calm. “I am the one who made you. I am the one you should be praising. But like children, you never appreciate your creator.”

“I’m not going to find appreciation for someone who took me from my real family. From my home.”

“Parnassos? That wasteland?” Barrik sneered. “You don’t even know where you came from, my child. I saved you from a desolate planet. Your people were at the edge of survival. If it wasn’t for me you would have died in the burial pit of your ancestors, like the weak, little girl you were. I made you strong! You would have nothing without me.”

“I would have my brother,” Phasma spat. “Without you he would still be alive.”

Barrik’s eyes went wide. In reflex, he rubbed the scar crossing his hand. “ _ Your brother _ ?” he tensed. The temperature of the room grew noticeably hot, but Phasma didn’t know what caused it. Her sight shot at the boy. He seemed weighted in discomfort, anticipating some kind of danger. 

“My brother,” she emphasized. “The one you killed.”

“I did no such thing. I’m not even sure who you’re referring to,” he shrugged indifferently though his tone suggested he was testing her memory in an attempt to establish if she truly remembered her brother. She didn’t like wasting her time on games.

“You injected the serum into him,” she accused gravely. “You turned him into one of your experiments. He was in agony. It had made his senses too sharp and it drove him insane. He was only a boy.”

“I recall nothing of the sort,” he responded. Suddenly his voice went low and he leaned closer for his words to reach their mark. “But tell me, child, you love him so much…what was his name?”

The tone he employed, that mocked her for taking out revenge for someone she barely remembered and that he couldn’t be bothered to keep in mind, gripped her in rage. Before she knew it her blaster shot off a plasma bolt into BRI-2. At the same time she was launching herself across the table at Barrik. 

A sudden pain pierced through Phasma’s head, like a shock of lightening darting through her brain. She wrenched back in a spasm and clasped her palms to the side of her head, clenching a scream as the spike entered in one ear and out the other. Memories shot through her mind, riding in on the agony.

 

_ Bodies, dead on a rocky beach. _

_ Hands grab her. She screams. Beside her the blond boy comes running with a club raised in his hand. _

_ “Let her go!” _

_ Suddenly she is free and she looks to the ground where a soldier grips his arm in pain. The club is raised in the air for a second time. It pounds into the soldier’s head and blood sprays across her ankles. _

_ “The boy!” another soldier shouts and points. “He’s trying to protect the girl! Get the boy first!” _

_ He grabs her hand and they run to the cave. _

_ “Now, Phasma!” he cries out as he scrambles them to the back where the light is dim and they can stay hidden. “Now! We need you now!” _

_ Soldiers run in after them, pointing blasters in all directions until their eyes can adjust to the darkness. _

_ The boy sits her back against the rock and holds her so she is shielded from view. _

_ “Now, Phasma…” he whispers in a panic into her hair. “Please come now. We need you now. Now. Now. Now…” _

 

The pain disappeared as fast as it came. A dizziness followed that caused Phasma to slump off the table and cover her eyes to block the light of the fire that suddenly seemed so bright. Her heart pounded at the intensity and sweat ran down the side of her face. It had been perhaps three seconds of terror but it was enough that Phasma worried it had destroyed something inside her mind.

Silence formed the air until Barrik’s voice swept it away. “Memories, my child, are nothing but pain.”

Phasma could only manage a whimper.

“Go back to your seat.”

With a trembling she couldn’t shake, she stood upright rather slowly, and took her seat again, slumping down into it like her legs couldn’t carry her any further. Her sight fell to the boy in expectation. He stared back at her apologetically and swallowed hard.

“You might have noticed,” Barrik said as he patted the boy’s arm. “Trey…has a gift.”

Phasma didn’t know what to say. On very few occasions did she have the means to realize the trouble she was in. She had usually fought through the danger or evaded it through analytical measures. This was not a scenario she had anticipated and it suddenly struck her as rather dire.

“Could you see it?” through a rasp, she asked the boy. With a look of dread, Trey gravely nodded his head. _ Great, a Force sensitive kid _ . What was it about the Force that could drudge up the worst memories one could suppress? 

Phasma looked over to Junior who sat with his arms crossed, staring daggers into her. She glanced at his leg where the plasma bolt had ricocheted off. His leg had been seared but his muscular physique was so dense it had merely left a black singe upon his skin.

“I’m not sorry,” Phasma responded without necessity. Junior pulled back his fist.

“Children!” Barrik exclaimed, waving Junior down. “We are a family! We will act like one.”

“What is it you’re trying to achieve here?” Phasma interjected haughtily. “What is your  _ grand plan _ ?”

“Have you not been listening?” Barrik answered. “A super human breed, of course. No longer will the weak weigh down the will of the strong. There will be no need for politics to ensure equal rights because everyone will already be genetically equal. There will be no wars, no illness, no limits…  _ We _ will be the beginning of this race.  _ We _ will be remembered throughout time. This is why you must side with your family, Subject 17, so that our line can prosper. Just think of it. A new master race that will wipe out this pathetic one that can’t even sustain a plasma blast.” He indicated to Junior for emphasis. “We are few but we will make more.”

“Perhaps you haven’t heard all the way out here in the isolation of Endor, but I’ve been destroying the labs that make your ridiculous race the past few weeks.”

“Those labs?” Barrik waved a hand dismissively. “I was actually glad when I read someone was destroying them. I didn’t know who it was but I figured it was one of my children. Anyway, those thieves were making second rate contaminants. Prisoners and animals are not what make a strong race.”

“Children,” Phasma supplied sardonically.

“Now you’re getting it!” Barrik responded in pride. “Children! Young and pliable and easily indoctrinated. The serum works best on those already strong of body,” he pointed to Junior and Cardinal, “or of mind.” He folded out his hands to indicate her. “You were such a scrawny thing and look what you’ve become! Commanding and powerful! The pride I had at your Captain’s ceremony when they issued you your cape…”

“This is insane,” Phasma responded with a shake of her head. “Is this really what the rest of you want? To be pulled down this nowhere path with this self-proclaimed pseudo-god?”

Junior resorted to continuing his stare down. Trey glanced hesitantly at Cardinal. Cardinal only looked to the floor. Finally it dawned on her, something was bothering Cardinal more than this unusual circumstance. 

“Why are you not intent on kilingl me anymore?” Phasma asked Cardinal point blank. He glanced up at her in fear, darting his gaze at Barrik briefly. “What did he tell you?”

“He persuaded me we could be apart of the greatest race in the galaxy. You are needed f-…”

“No, something’s wrong. That wouldn’t stop you.”

“Drop it, Subject 17,” Barrik urged. “Subject 4 sees the logical future of the galaxy and nothing more.”

“You were so hell bent on destroying me though,” Phasma contemplated aloud. “There’s no way the vitamins are still in your system. Time would not quell the fury you had for me. Why now are you persuaded out of it?”

“Stop taunting him and focus on the goal at hand,” Barrik needled. “We need to build our lab. We need children. You will begin your duties once we’ve left this planet.”

“You don’t know why, do you?” Phasma finally concluded. Cardinal glanced over at Trey in terror. “They tore the memory out of you. You don’t remember that I was the one that killed B-…”

The pain hit her hard again, shooting tremors of spikes into her brain. Phasma struggled against it but this was not like fighting an enemy she could face. More memories flooded into her mind, this time longer and with greater detail.

 

_ “Find her!” the guard cries out to the others. “She still has her memories. It is imperative she doesn’t escape.” _

_ Cold and scared, she crouches in the bushes until the guards disperse. The alarms are blaring, hurting her sensitive ears. The falling snow minimized the visibility that night, but it is her only chance at freedom. They came for Archex. He was not the same when he returned. They came for her too.  _

_ She slinks out of the shadows towards the small shuttle across the compound. She wears only the clinic gown she and the others are allowed to wear. Feet bare, she sneaks towards the landing pad. The guard’s blood on her clothes is still wet, making her more frigid. _

_ A sound stops her in her tracks. A lab tech emerges from one of the buildings. She hides as he leans up against the building and lights up some kind of synth opioid she has seen him steal from the drug supply. Another lab tech exits the building. _

_ “How’s it goin’, Rivas?” the second man asks the first. _

_ “S’okay,” Rivas replies. “Could do without the alarms blasting.” _

_ “That blonde girl is loose. Hux’s favorite.” _

_ “So I hear.” _

_ “You don’t seem concerned.” _

_ “That girl is only twelve and near six feet tall. Where’s she going to go that someone don’t notice her?” _

_ From behind her, she hears shouting. “Follow the bloody footprints!” She looks down at her gown. There is more blood dripping off her than she thought and no way to keep it from spilling to the ground. With no other option, she bolts out of the shadows and towards the shuttle. _

_ “Holy shit!” the lab tech exclaims as he gets in her path. Being taller and stronger, she runs him down but he manages to slow her pace enough for Rivas to grab onto her arm and hold on with all his might. His legs get swept up underneath him and he flies forward. In the chaos, his leg gets tangled up with hers and she stumbles into a fall. _

_ “Stop!” Rivas screams out. “Please, stop!” _

_ She tries to get up but he puts the full weight of his body on top of her. “Get off!” she shouts. She manages to fling him away but the guards catch up and she feels their hands at her arms. She’s panicked now and starts yelling for help where she knows it will not come. “Siv! Archex! Help!” _

_ “Shut your face!” one guard tells her. His fist strikes her across the cheek. “You’ve given us enough trouble tonight.” _

_ “Help me, Phasma!” she continues to scream. “Phasma, please!” _

_ An electric baton is jutted into her abdomen and the intense sting of shock tremors her whole body with the force of the energy. It is removed immediately and she can breathe again.  _

_ “No,” the guard who takes the electric baton away replies. ”Let her scream all she wants. By tomorrow, she won’t remember any of these names.” _

 

Phasma came to at the foot of her chair. With trembling arms, she hoisted herself up back in it, giving Barrik an evil eye.

“It’s time for you to respect me, Subject 17.”


	20. Chapter 20

“It’s time for you to respect me, Subject 17.”

Phasma could hardly catch her breath. The pain had been so intense, the visions terrifying. Somewhere in her mind were trapped memories that had been yanked open on full display in an attempt to destroy whatever psyche she had left. She had been locked into it for what felt like minutes but it seemed only seconds had passed. The only experience she had like it was the panic attack she’d had on the  _ Silver Shadow _ .

She looked at Trey, little and scrawny, sitting slouched in his seat and trying to become invisible.

When she didn’t respond to him, Barrik barked orders at her to gain her attention. “You, Subject 17, will be responsible for finding and gathering the children. You have the most field experience and your time at the strategy boards will give you a leg up and working knowledge of where we can get them. Junior will accompany you, and Cardinal will be responsible for the day-to-day matters in the lab.”

Barrik sat straighter in his seat as his voice grew low and grave. His hand clenched with authority. “I did not have this moment come to me only for it to fail. It is the galaxy telling me that the master race will reign soon. All hope had been gone. I thought both you and Cardinal were dead, but then you turn up at my door. This is not a coincidence. This is an omen.”

“What’s his role?” Phasma interjected as she pointed to Trey. “I want to know where he came from and why he’s not been subjected to the serum.”

“Your doubt is disappointing, though I expected it from you.”

“You didn’t answer my question. You’re afraid he won’t live through the treatments, aren’t you? And then you’ll have lost a force-sensitive kid-…”

She had braced herself for the mind ambush and was aware just long enough to note Barrik point in her direction in a forthright jab. His index finger was a perfect line, shaky from the determination he put into the effort. 

 

At first there was not one but a myriad of scenes mashed together to form a theme: death. Snapshots of every person she had killed with a blaster, every man, woman and child she had imprisoned and starved, every animal she had ever ripped apart with her bare hands. Children in the academies, stormtroopers who had not performed up to standards, aliens protecting their distant worlds, scientists creating supersoldiers, Resistance members, Sol Rivas, Brendol Hux; all killed by her hand. Under orders, in defense, for survival; there was death swirling all throughout her mind. The blackness that haunted her eventually cleared and formed a specific memory.

_ “This is all your fault,” Barrik says as he opens the door with his bandaged hand. _

_ Her brother lies on the floor of the cell. The iron bar he had shoved through his own ears drips with his blood. His blond hair is matted in red liquid, his blue eyes, the very same as hers, see into nothing. _

_ “He’s dead because of you.” _

_ She runs to her brother and grips him with tiny hands and cries in his chest. She shakes him but he never sees again. _

When the memory dissipated, Phasma became aware she was slouched on the floor, gripping her head with her hands and gasping for breath. Above her, Cardinal held her blaster to his side as he quietly assessed her. Still sitting at the table, Barrik sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose between his index and thumb.

“Why do all my children resist their destinies?”

Her body felt like she had climbed mountains in freezing weather for days. When she began to move back to her seat her muscles were sluggish. Phasma glanced over at Trey to find he could not look her in the eye. A tear slipped down his cheek either because he hadn’t wanted to hurt her or because of the horrible things in her past, she didn’t know. She determined it was probably both.

Cardinal took his seat beside her, giving her a knowing look. He had been through this as well. Quite recently. She was his enemy but he didn’t wish it on her. Ironically, he undoubtedly had more empathy because Barrik had taken away his memory of why they were trying to kill each other in the first place.

“You know why I have to do this, don’t you?” Barrik’s voice seemed more familiar somehow. Trey’s use of the Force wasn’t just dredging up old memories, but also giving her a sense of familiarity with the past. She was beginning to understand how Kylo Ren, without even realizing it, had inadvertently unveiled the blocked memories from her mind. The chaos of such a power would be able to knock the hidden conscious to the surface if there was enough of it rooted deep down. Phasma had over twelve years worth of memories to pry open.

“You’re not the one doing it,” Phasma rasped, looking over to Trey. Her response was purely in an attempt to garner a reaction. Her instincts did not fail her.

“Of course, I’m the one doing this!” Barrik slapped his hand on the table. He caught himself a little too late, retracting his fist up to his chin in a hard, thoughtful control. “Subject 17. Phasma. I credit you with the intellect in this family. You would be wise to use it.”

“He’s the one torturing my mind,” Phasma accused, jutting her chin over at Trey.

Barrik made a show of pointing his finger at Phasma. “You have always been the most stubborn of my children.” He flexed hard and Phasma felt a burst in her mind. It only jolted her for a second but long enough to see her brother again, this time going insane while she could only watch in horror. It still managed to take her breath away.

“I am in control here, Phasma,” Barrik declared. “I am your father, and you will obey me.”

It took a few seconds for Phasma, panting after the latest mental assault, to answer. “I have no father.”

It was true. In all the memories she had there was no one that resembled a father figure in her life. It was either abuse in the lab, numbness as a stormtrooper or chaos on her planet. Having no father was a more enticing thought than Barrik being that person.

“It pains me to say it,” Barrik slowly began, “but you will be stripped of any offending memories you have of me. You must accept this is your family now. We have work to do. Your irrational hatred of me is no longer allowed to impede on our agenda.”

“So you’re just going to take all my memories away, is that it?” Phasma responded haughtily. “How am I supposed to find all your experimental children if I don’t remember where they are?” It was not her natural tone but she needed more time. She could tell he was eager to brag about what he thought were great accomplishments.

“Don’t be so daft,” he answered with a huff of annoyance. “I can cut out all the unnecessary memories and keep the ones you need. Sure, you might lose a few harmless ones, but all in all you’ll still retain the ones from your service with the First Order.”

“You’d have to take Armitage Hux out of my mind,” she dared. “Any memory of him could jar me into autonomy.”

Trey, while giving her a quizzical look, spoke for the first time. “Who is Armi-…”

“So be it,” Barrik quickly agreed.

Phasma folded her arms and leaned back in her chair. “But then I’d have a blank slate where a commanding officer should be. That would certainly raise suspicion in my mind.”

“My dear child,” Barrik tsked, “it’s not that you won’t know that you’re missing the memory, it’s that the emotional instigators will be gone and you won’t have any reason to feel this unnecessary anger towards me anymore. It’s not as though I’m leaving you entirely in the dark. Cardinal knows something went on between you two but, with a little pressure, he has wisely overcome his ire. The past doesn’t matter. It is the future that we must all focus on, and quite frankly, you are wasting our time.”

“And Junior?”

Junior had sat so still and silent the whole time, Phasma almost forgot he wasn’t just a large wall to her left. He gave her a threatening grin and picked up the spoon lying on the table. Holding it upright, he pressed his thumb to the head and effortlessly bent the utensil into a V.  _  I can crush you _ .

“Junior is my good son. He retains almost all his memories.”

“Except for the ones in the lab.”

“Well, yes, but he knows that and he understands it’s for his own good. Just like it will be for yours.”

“And Trey? Does he erase his own memories?” she added in skepticism. 

Barrik sighed and looked back at the boy cowering in his seat. “Don’t concern yourself with him. There’s nothing you’re required to know.”

“Exactly how long have you had him?” Phasma kept nagging. “Where did you come from, boy?” Trey did not look at her, did not speak and kept his face and tears hidden in his sleeve. Still, Phasma continued to prod. “How old are you, boy? Where are your parents? How did you end up here?”

“Cease this pestering, Subject 17!” Barrik demanded. “Or not only will I remove Armitage Hux from your mind but the fact you were ever a captain at all.”

“What a ridiculous thing to threaten me with.” Phasma gave him the most defiant look she could muster. “If you take that from me, won’t you be taking all my knowledge about the star systems where we can gather more of your subjects? I won’t be much use to you if I can’t collect more children.”

“Trey will tell me all I need to know,” Barrik said as he placed his hand firmly on his shoulder, giving him a little shake.

“Then why do you even need me? I can guarantee you that if you take even a second of my memory away, I will destroy you,” Phasma declared. “You’ll never get me to cooperate. Not with your brain-dead son,” she indicated at Junior who bared his teeth at her, “not with Cardinal and certainly not with you and your half-baked ideas about superior beings.”

“You best be careful, Subject 17,” Barrik warned.

“Why? There isn’t one person here I would consider superior in any way,” she argued. “Junior is so souped up on serum he can barely fit through a door. Cardinal’s mind has been wiped and he’s not half the soldier he used to be. You? Why, you’re nothing but a murderer with a god complex. And him…” Phasma cast her focus on Trey, “he’s simply Force-sensitive. That’s hardly superior.”

“That’s enough, Subject 17!”

“Tell me where he came from,” she demanded. “You stole him from somewhere.”

“If you would calm down…”

“Brendol Hux was killing everyone who knew about the BRI project. Why, after fifteen years? It’s because of this boy, isn’t it? You stole him from one of the investors. You and Hux were going to try to build more soldiers until you saw the opportunity to kidnap a Force-sensitive boy who you could cont-…”

The pain hit her harder than before, harder than anything she’d ever experienced. She went down so hard she knocked her shoulder onto the floor but was hardly aware of it. Gripping her head, she clenched back a scream.

Image after image, Phasma felt the memories being pulled from her. Whether they were being stowed further into the recesses of her mind or ripped entirely out, she didn’t know, but she needed them. Without them her vengeance would be meaningless and go abandoned. Regardless of how traumatizing they could be, they were hers and she wanted them to remain untouched.

With intense strength, Phasma gripped the edge of the table and turned to face Trey. Her body was locked in the spasm but her eyes remained opened and she forced herself to look into his frail and frightened eyes. He was taking the memories but also retaining them, like sucking the disease out of her and allowing it to affect his own self. He abhorred it but had no choice. He was connected to Barrik somehow. 

Images of torture and abuse ran through her mind but she kept her eyes trained on Trey. Her head felt like it was splitting in two but she focused on him. He struggled to take out her memories, tears of pain and regret slipped down his face. She made him look at her.

And then she began to chant.

It wasn’t words she was saying, and it was hardly a chant so much as a whisper, but it began to work the moment the Force slowed down and listened.

_ Family _

Phasma focused her mind on a person. Armitage. She conjured every thought of him and let the feelings take over. Respect he had for her, gifts he gave, moments that he treated her as a person uplifted her and was translated back to Trey.

It was working as the Force began to tremble as Trey took those memories from her, like it was frightened by the emotions it triggered. Soon enough, Armitage was gone and Phasma had to find another way.

Sami came next. Sweet Sami who never hurt her and cared for her when she was at her most vulnerable. She dared to help her even when they were still on opposite sides of morality. She focused her thoughts on the blossom of affection that had developed between them the past few weeks. The Force roared back, taking those memories away as quickly as it could, though it struggled to rip them from her mind.

It was winning and she had only one recourse left. It was her last resort because she had hoped to defeat it by now. She would risk showing the Force her most precious memory. The only one that made her truly happy.

 

_ “Keldo!” _

_ She calls to him in a panic and he comes running as fast as he can. Sprinting across the black rocks of the beach, her brother dives into the water and swims out to her where she is caught in the tide. He grabs her roughly around her middle and pulls her to dry land. Once they are safe he collapses beside her with heavy gasps dissipating the adrenaline and fear. _

_ “I told you to never go in the water without me,” he lightly scolds her. _

_ “I’m sorry,” she begins to cry, “but I saw something and wanted to get it for you.” She holds up a smooth silver piece of metal in her hand. Instantly his expression changes from irritation to curiosity as he gently takes it from her. He inspects it with a growing smile on his face. _

_ “You found one of Phasma’s reflections,” he responds in awe. _

_ “You are the person most deserving of it,” she says in a matter-of-fact way. “I thought it might be a gift to you from Phasma.” She looks down at the ground sadly. “I almost failed her test though.” _

_ “You?” Keldo laughed as he scooped her up and placed her on his back. “You got the reflection and didn’t hoard it for yourself. You’re the strongest person I know.” _

_ “You’re just saying that because we’re family,” she says as she gripped him around the neck. _

_ “I mean it  _ because  _ we’re family,” he corrects while he walks them back to the cave. “You and me, we got to be strong. For each other. You know?” _

_ “Sure. Strong together.” _

_ “That’s right. Doesn’t matter whether we’re here physically or not. Phasma will make sure we’re always together. You got that?” _

_ “Yeah,” she smiles and squeezes him into a hug, “I got it. You’re the best brother ever, you know.” _

_ “I know,” he laughs. “And thanks for the reflection. It just so happens, you’re the best sister ever.” _

 

The Force broke in that moment like a supernova, ripped in two. Phasma felt the pull of her mind instantly cease and she looked up to find she was in a room entirely of light. She was alive, or so she thought. She looked at her hands, still in gauntlets and down at herself clad entirely in chrome.

“These…these are Phasma’s reflections,” she whispered to herself in revelation. She was suddenly aware of another presence. Several feet from her stood Trey. 

“What happened?” he asked as she stood up.

“You’re very strong with the dark side,” she replied, rubbing her temple for extra relief. “I happened to learn a few tricks to counteract it recently. Where is everybody?”

“We’re still in your mind.” Trey looked around inquisitively. “I think.”

“It’s empty,” Phasma answered feeling defeated. Trey shot her a wide-eyed look of surprise.

“No, it’s not. It’s entirely full. I’ve never seen this much light in a person.”

Phasma stared at him for a moment, puzzling it out before responding. “I’m not a good person.”

“I don’t think it has much to do with ‘good’. More like you have…” Trey, being a mere child, was visibly trying to explain his meaning. He looked at the floor and narrowed his eyes. “You might have, like, lots of good friends or you’re really smart  or you're very..."  He paused and nodded at that.  "You're very.”

At first thought that didn’t seem like a possible explanation, but further inspection revealed she had a strong enough mind to overcome emotional suppressants the First Order gave her and to rise to one of the highest positions of leadership. She had learned to find an ally like Hux in an austere world and friendships with Sami and Maz despite the difference of political philosophies. She endeavored to find justice for a brother she barely remembered but who had undoubtedly made her stronger than Barrik ever could. There was light in her life despite the darkness that had surrounded her. It was brightest here, in her mind.

“How is Barrik controlling your Force abilities?” she suddenly asked.

“What? Oh, uh, brain implant. The control unit is wired into his hand. He points and it sends a message telling me who to…hurt. If I don’t comply…well…”

“You don’t need to tell me more.” She suspected his compliance was also a conditioned one. Barrik had spent years teaching this boy to direct his Force talents through experimentation that traumatized him as much as Barrik traumatized her.

“Will you save me, Phasma?” His voice was small and unsure.

“Yes,” she assured. “We have to be strong. For each other.”

 

Phasma groaned as she woke up on the floor holding her pounding head. Her body felt weighted, like she was transported to a high gravity planet.

Barrik stared at her with a frown. “It took you over twenty seconds,” he chastised. “Did you take all of her memories?”

“N-no, sir,” Trey responded quietly. “She has a strong mind. Took longer than usual.”

“We’ll soon see about that.”

Nobody bothered to help her as she tried to rise from the floor. Getting up on her feet was a feat all on it’s own. Her joints creaked as she finally stood tall though not without keeping her hand to her head and moaning in agony.

“Subject 17…” Barrik called to her. “What do you remember?”

Phasma cradled her head in her hand and looked about her like she’d never seen the place before. Barrik stood up in alarm.

“What do you remember, Subject 17?” he called louder. She glanced around in absolute confusion. “Shit, she had better still be useful as a soldier,” he accused Trey.

Phasma stumbled a little then looked down at herself in surprise. She pawed at the chrome of her armor curiously before pulling out something that seemed completely foreign to her. A small cylinder piece of silver gleamed in her hand.

“Wha’s this?” she slurred as she held it up to Junior. He huffed grumpily at her as she dangled it in front of his face. Cardinal eyed it suspiciously.

“Looks like a retractable staf-…”

In the blink of an eye, Phasma flicked her wrist and the silverstaff retracted out like a rocket from both ends. One side pierced Junior through the neck. His eyes went wide as his hands fumbled through the air, unable to clasp onto the silverstaff pierced all the way through his throat.

Phasma pulled out a large knife from her ammo box and threw it at Barrik. Before he had even realized Junior was in distress, the knife was already sailing in his direction. It struck into the arm of his chair after slicing clean through his hand. He screamed and sank down out of his chair, gripping his forearm in shock.

Cardinal pulled up her blaster and aimed it at her. She stopped him with a single word.

“Archex!”

He paused in surprise, unsure why the word had shook him enough not to fire.

“Archex,” she continued, putting her hands in the air. “You don’t remember but, at the Raxus lab,  we were allies. We helped each other survive. I can get your memories back.” 

He slowly lowered the blaster. Behind her Junior was still writhing like a large moth embedded in a bug collection while Barrik gasped in pain at the foot of his chair, unable to focus on anything else. Realizing there was little sense in fighting her, Cardinal nodded.

“Don’t try to kill me again,” he warned.

“You have my word.” 

She went to Trey who sat in his seat with a look of fright at all the bloodshed around him. “Are you all right?” she asked him. He wasn’t but he nodded all the same.

“What are we going to do with him?” he indicated to Barrik. 

Now that all threats were countered, one look at the scientist stimulated her back into action. She roughly grabbed Barrik by the collar and shoved him into his chair while he whined in pain.

“His name was Keldo!” she shouted into his face. 

Even though Barrik was moaning loudly while he clasped his remaining hand tightly around his severed wrist, he paused a moment to look at her in shock. She raised her fist into the air and he flinched away hard with his eyes squeezed tight.

“I’m sorry!” he yelled out. 

“You killed him!” Phasma spat in his face. “You had Keldo punished because I fought back and punctured your hand.”

“It wasn’t me! I didn’t punish him!” Barrik pleaded. “He did it to himself! The serum enhanced his hearing. He went mad with all the noise! He shoved a steel probe into his ear trying to drown all the noise out but he was strong. Too strong. It didn’t just go through his ear…”

She struck him across the jaw and his head whipped back like a ragdoll’s. She shook him out of his stupor and he barely remained conscious.

A sudden feeling overwhelmed her as she realized he would never know what she or anyone else endured. He had hurt so many children, killed so many people, there wasn’t any way to inflict the same amount of damage to him. She didn’t have the time or resources to imprison, torture and monitor him so that he would receive the appropriate amount of punishment. 

He gathered his wits enough to give her a pitiful look. Fear stared back at her through his eyes as he began to plead for his life. “Don’t do this, Subjec-…Captain Phasma,” he begged. “I can help you. I c-…” 

She slapped him this time but the effect was the same. He was too weak to live through any of the punishments she had visualized for him in her mind. There suddenly grew another fear. All this time in finding him and capturing him and she might not feel satisfied with the outcome of his demise.

“You’re a murderer and a monster!” she screamed into his face. He nodded his head as tears flowed from his eyes.

“Yes, I know…” he cried pathetically. She shoved him once in disappointment. He was supposed to be defiant so she could punch him in his horrible face and make him break.

There was a moment of silence while she thought hard. Junior had finally suffocated or lost too much blood and was slouched in his chair like a giant, life-less boulder. Her silverstaff still hung out of his neck.

Phasma made to hit Barrik again but he flinched and cried some more. Piss streamed down his legs and pooled around the chair. Phasma had interrogated many people who had this response, yet even then, there was no one more deplorable than Barrik. She stared at him, wondering what to do.

“I can do it.”

Phasma glanced over to Trey who fixed his sight on Barrik in a steadfast glare. She didn’t have to ask what he meant.

“I can punish him,” he repeated

“How?”

“I have memories,” he said tapping his head. “Yours, his” he pointed to Cardinal, “others… I can make him believe they’re his. He will relive them for as long as he’s alive.”

Barrik ceased his moaning and stared at them in grave silence. It was the look of a man who hoped his reaction to the thought would go unnoticed. It was the one thing Phasma could tell he truly feared deep down.

Phasma looked hard at Trey. She had been through this with him only a moment earlier and had felt the disease of these memories infect his mind. He would also have to relive them. He could be just as damaged by the end of it. The dark side of the Force might take him and never give him back.

Phasma nodded once. Trey stepped forward and let the Force take over.

 

Phasma made sure the stasis chamber in which she had placed Barrik was fully functional before blasting the rock around it till it was buried. He had been conscious but in a vegetative state, mouth and eyes twitching at the barrage of memories he believed he was experiencing. He would suffer there until the battery of the chamber fizzled out, which was somewhere between ten to twenty years.

Cardinal, Sami and Trey came to her side as she wiped the dust from her hands and looked upon the makeshift prison she had hidden.

“Now what?” Trey asked. He had not only managed to give the memories to Barrik but also expel the foreign ones from his mind. Phasma knew the trauma of his time with Barrik and the fact he punished the man himself would still weigh heavily on him, potentially forever, but she knew someone who might be able to help with that.

“I’m taking you to a pirate named Maz,” Phasma told him. “She’ll teach you how to use the Force and she’ll never ask you to use it to hurt anyone. You’ll be okay if you stay with her.”

Trey nodded his head in understanding. Phasma turned her attention to Cardinal.

“What are you going to do?”

“Mercenary, what else? Archex of Jakku at your service,” he replied. His expression then went apologetic. “I’m sorry I couldn’t remember your name.”

She shook her head and clapped him on the shoulder. Her chrome gauntlet reflected the red of his armor. 

“That’s all right,” she said. “That girl has been lost for a long time.”


	21. Epilogue

Phasma felt an unfamiliar hesitance of spirit as her boots touched the coarse sand of her birth world, Parnassos.  For the first time in over twenty years, she was home, though there was nothing welcoming about the place. Dark water, sand, and stone were all she could see.  No trees or grasses broke through the landscape, no animals, and certainly no people. The only living matter was some flaky, green lichen growing on the rocks. Edible, she knew.  And there had been fish in the ocean, but sometimes they were poison, with other dangerous predators lurking beneath the waves.

She looked over to Sami almost apologetically.  “I don’t know if it was always this bleak or if the First Order did something to scour the place after they took us.”

“Let’s go find out if anything’s left.  We’ve come too far to turn back now.” Sami adopted a matter of fact attitude, determined to support Phasma through this and held out her hand.  Phasma took it, and they walked together to explore the rocky caves. Phasma seemed to be unconsciously drifting towards one surrounded by white stones.  

On closer inspection, the stones were crumbled bone, stripped of flesh and bleached by the sun.  Phasma clearly noted the ominous objects but switched on her light and proceeded into the cave without hesitation.  Sami followed, her blaster ready for any hidden dangers.

There was little to see inside, however, until they came to the tomb.  A skeleton, decayed but not dismantled by exposure to the elements, lay on a platform.  It held no ornaments or weapons, but a book sat within a carved hollow of a shelf-like niche nearby.  

Phasma reached inside and drew out the book.  It was titled  _ The People’s Testament of Phasma _ .  She ran her fingers over the title for a moment, then opened the book and began to learn about the god with her name. 

 

> In the time before Phasma, there were two tribes on the land: the People of the Rock and the People of the Sand.  
> 
> The People of the Rock lived in caves, sturdy and safe for when the rains came.  Rain was hazardous, as all knew, leaving sores on the skin if not promptly cleaned with deep stream-water.  
> 
> The People of the Sand had only their leaky driftwood huts to protect them.  However, they could catch fish from deep beneath the waves, far more healthful fare than the blind cave fish and lichen of the People of the Rock.
> 
> As the sea rose, rather than join the tribes together, the People of the Sand showed their brutal nature and invaded the territory of the People of the Rock.
> 
> There was much death, and terrible wars lasted for seasons.  The People of the Rock fought valiantly, but the People of the Sand slowly came to control most of the land.  
> 
> The People of the Rock sealed themselves inside their caves and prepared to fight the invasion to their last warrior.  
> 
> They heard the People of the Sand digging at their barriers and readied themselves for the final battle.
> 
> Instead, there was a mighty sound never heard before or since and a flash of light so brilliant that even the inner parts of the caves showed a moment of twilight.  
> 
> The People of the Rock waited, but heard nothing more.  
> 
> After two days had passed, and with food stores running low, the People of the Rock emerged to see a changed land.  A heavy mist hung in the air obscuring the sun. Dead fish by the thousands floated on shore. Surrounding the cave entrances were piles of ash that, on closer examination, contained charred pieces of bone.  
> 
> The youngling henceforth known as True Eye spotted a new tower shining on the Sunset Isle.  
> 
> The People, for they were all the people left now, determined that God had judged them worthy and intervened against their unworthy foes.  
> 
> They named her Phasma, the word for something so wonderful it is beyond mortal imagination.  
> 
> They offered thanks towards her tower with every meal, doubly so if the meal had come from the sea.  
> 
> Phasma protected the People, and in return they served Her.
> 
> Soon, they learned that Phasma had rules they needed to intuit and follow.  
> 
> First and foremost, no one may look upon Her directly.  Any who approached Her island became ill; the worse illness for those who drew closest. Some forced their way onto the island’s shore, believing Phasma would reward their daring.  Instead, they grew too weak to ever leave, their bones forever serving as a warning to others. 
> 
> Phasma also did not wish Her People to eat of fish that died naturally, only those caught by their own effort.  The liver and fat of large fish should be eschewed, and any of Her relics that washed up on shore must not be kept but instead returned to the sea or given away freely.  
> 
> Phasma kept all others away.  The People had food and shelter, and grew their numbers secure in the knowledge that She would protect them.   

Most of the rest of the book consisted of lists of generations and laws dealing with property and criminal matters.  At the very end, however, an addition had been written by a different hand on newer parchment and folded next to the cover.  It read:

> Many years passed, and the People became overconfident.  They believed Phasma separated them from all others so that they could hunt, craft, pray, take care of their children, and make art.  They no longer trained for war. ‘Phasma will protect us,’ the saying ran. No other People could boast of such direct intervention from their God.  
> 
> Thus, when the conquerors came, the People approached without fear, greeting them with fish and fresh water.  
> 
> The visitors became aggressive and demanded the children of the People.  Naturally, the People refused and retreated to their caves. They waited for Phasma to rid them of the attackers as She had done before.  
> 
> This time, their wait was not rewarded.  The conquerors used weapons of great power to break down the barriers to the caves.  Collapses killed many of the People. Others tried to surrender only to be cut down by beams of pure energy.  
> 
> The conquerors only wanted children.  They carried off two dozen of the youngest, leaving behind nothing but smoking rocks, craters, the dead, and me, the acolyte tasked with carrying Phasma’s word into the depths of the caves to preserve it.  
> 
> I bore witness to the betrayal, but whether Phasma deserted us or we turned too far away from Her teachings, I will never know.

 

The book ended there, and obviously the last follower of Phasma had not experienced a divine intervention.  Phasma replaced the book and retreated from the caves with Sami. It seemed she had unconsciously named herself after a fickle goddess who abandoned her People to the First Order.

Sami’s gaze shot to the west, across the sea.  She grabbed the quadnocs from Phasma’s belt and scanned the area.  

“There’s something out there, where the book said Phasma’s island was located.  Something shiny,” she said.

They re-entered the shuttle, intending to fly over and investigate.  When they reached within 100 meters, however, radiation alarms sounded from the sensor panel.  The warnings advised them that they should approach no closer. 

Still, Phasma could see all she needed.  On Phasma’s island, a chrome-plated yacht had crashed and its nuclear reactor exploded.  All nearby was blighted and dead, and the radiation would linger another 10,000 years. Bones of brave explorers lined the shore, just as the book had said.

Phasma chuckled darkly.  “A crashed ship. The idiots were worshiping a crashed space ship that was leaking radioactive poison into their environment.  And I’m the dumbest of them all, naming myself after her.” She laughed harder, squeezing her eyes shut. To her surprise, some tears leaked out.

“I’m just an overgrown, primitive idiot thinking I could be something more.  Thinking I was special, that her touch saved me from the treatments for something important.”  Phasma’s words started to become broken with sobs. “Maybe it did. Maybe it warped my DNA so that the serums didn’t kill me.  Maybe I really do have this hunk of junk to thank for my life.”

She clutched onto Sami’s hand like a drowning woman.  Sami slid out of her seat and pulled Phasma up into an embrace.  She supported her weight (embarrassingly difficult) and patted her on the back.  Sami doubted she could feel it, so she took a risk and unfastened Phasma’s helmet.  It slid off, exposing blue eyes drowning in tears and shame. 

“It’s not your fault you were taken, or that you lived when they didn’t.  You know there’s no shame in being a survivor. Your brother would be proud of you.”

“He’s the only happy memory I have of this place,” Phasma confessed.

“Sounds like it’s the only one you should hold onto, then.”

“Perhaps I should retire the name Phasma as well, after seeing this. It's delusional, toxic...”  

“No!  Phasma is a protector goddess.  She is.  _ You _ are, to me.  And you can be to others.  It's a big universe, and there are a lot of people who could use a shining symbol of hope.”

“Do you really think we can make a difference?”

“Between you, me, Maz, Cardinal, Trey, and the ability to call in favors from the Resistance and General Hux – though probably not at the same time – I think you underestimate the power of your allies.”

“Allies... I like the sound of that.”

“Me too.  Now, let's head off to the rim.  With any luck, we'll add my father to the list.”

“And perhaps find some people to help along the way?”

“I think that's almost a certainty, my Captain.”


End file.
